


Heartfire

by Cempagaldre



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Medieval, F/M, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Plot, Protectiveness, Romance, Royalty, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-20
Updated: 2014-02-20
Packaged: 2018-01-13 03:47:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 33,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1211440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cempagaldre/pseuds/Cempagaldre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life hasn't been kind to blacksmith Derek Hale. Only a month after he moved to the royal capitol of Beacon and started working as a way to escape his past, the royal family is brutally murdered by Deucalion, one of the king's former generals, and his men. While the oncoming political instability hardly has any impact on him, two weeks later, Derek's quiet and solitary life is nonetheless disturbed by the sudden appearance of three young men who were thought to be dead. One of whom changes his life in ways he could never have imagined; someone who, for the first time in years, makes him experience things he thought he'd never feel again. But then again, life has never been kind to Derek... Will this time be different?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heartfire

“This place is really going to the dogs quickly, isn’t it?” 

“Oh quite so, dear. Beacon used to be _such_ a refined town, and look at it now, crooks and lowlifes everywhere preparing for that _dreadful_ war, I hear.” 

Once again, the same two gossiping women from down the street were sitting down on the bench in front of Derek’s smithy. Beacon was littered with stone benches and parks, so why the hell they always sat down on that particular one was beyond him. He never heard anyone else out there talking—it’s not like he had exceptional hearing or anything— but somehow these two always succeeded at being so obnoxiously loud that he couldn’t even begin to tune them out. 

One would expect people to keep their voices down when they were speaking ill of the new king or what had happened to Beacon after his takeover, especially in times like these; the town guards were still on an arresting frenzy, but these women didn’t seem to mind. Of course, Derek was sure they _would_ mind when a guard finally overheard them and took one of them off, they might even call out to him for help. Derek didn’t care much for politics and was in no way a supporter of the Usurper King, Deucalion and his men, but he wouldn’t go out of his way to stop the guards if they tried to take _those_ arrogant fishwives. 

Regardless of his thoughts and opinions, the women continued their chatter, voices just as loud and annoying as before, to the point that he could hardly focus on his work anymore. He had already finished last week’s order of weapons for Deucalion’s guard, but it wouldn’t hurt to get some more ready. With the plentiful rumors of oncoming war, he was sure there would be much larger orders coming his way soon. 

“I mean, don’t get me wrong. I don’t want our kingdom to look weak and risk being attacked by our neighboring countries, but the previous king had _far_ more taste for culture and the more sophisticated things, so to speak,” bitch number two said. 

Derek gritted his teeth as their continued chatter made him almost miss hitting the sword with his hammer. 

God, he hated them. How the hell could somebody be that ignorant? He had only lived in Beacon for a month when Deucalion’s coup had happened, and it’s not like he gave a damn, but even _he_ realized what Deucalion really had in mind.

Business might be good for a blacksmith in wartime, but no one really wanted war. Anyone with half a brain knew that their neighboring countries would never attack them, not with all the time and effort the last king had put into diplomacy. 

A while back, when people still thought their new blacksmith might be sociable, some people tried to talk to Derek about what had happened. Apparently, Deucalion had been a general under the previous king, but had been dishonorably discharged after he and his men raided a border town of the northern Kingdom. Derek had initially come to Beacon precisely because it had been so peaceful. His first days here, people often spoke of the last king and his family with high regard. But now, things had changed. 

Only an hour or two ago, when Derek was out for supplies, he had heard a small boy whining animatedly to one of his friends about how much fun the town used to be, and how unfair it was that they were hardly allowed out anymore by their parents. Derek thought those parents to be quite sensible since the streets really _were_ a dangerous place now. Everyone seemed to have loved the old royal family, but they wouldn’t dare speak up against Deucalion’s hard reign. 

No one was stupid enough to go against the new king’s hunger for war since people were afraid of him … terrified of the man who had taken care of the entire royal family in one fell, unexpected swoop, who had burned a path through the castle. 

Deucalion only had to use that fear to make sure no one would oppose him. Well, fear _and_ the added support of the few politicians he allowed to live (“corrupt traitor bastards,” Derek once heard a man call them. That same man had been taken in by the guards mere hours later.) What remained of the royal army had no other king to follow, and Deucalion’s own men were a force to be reckoned with, deadly as much as they were ruthless, so most figured it was better to join them than fight them. 

_Cowards._ A voice in Derek’s head supplied, but he quickly pushed it down. He didn’t care. He _didn’t_. He just couldn’t stand the ignorance and spinelessness of some people. 

And that’s how things were in Beacon now. People lived in dread and mourned the true king’s death, only in secret, as all supporters of the old monarchy were mercilessly hunted and slaughtered. The town was still standing, though, as was his small workplace, and that was all Derek needed to fall back into routine. He just continued doing what he did best and tried once again to finish the blade he was working on. 

His train of thought had actually succeeded at making him forget the nattering harpies outside for a while and he was relieved to find it was mostly quiet now. For one blissful second, he truly thought the women had finally left … but when did fate ever throw him a bone? 

“Oh, the town is starting to look absolutely _abysmal_. You know, we ought to try and get an audience with the king about this. Surely the man will listen to good reason.”

 _Yes, please do,_ Derek dearly hoped, since most people who had actually dared ask anything of Deucalion had been thrown in the dungeons of the old palace … or worse. 

“Our town is starting to attract more scum every day,” she said next. “Why, even this blacksmith,” –Derek nearly smashed his hammer into his knee— “Nobody knows a _thing_ about him. For all we know he could be a criminal! But does the king do anything about that? Of course not.”

“Very true, dear, though I wouldn’t mind seeing him hard at work without a shirt on,” the other woman chuckled. 

That was the last straw. Before he even fully realized what he was doing, Derek had moved away from his anvil and approached his door. He’d show them how much of a danger he could really be and with some luck they might never sit on his bench ever again. A man could hope. 

He walked up to them armed with nothing but a stare and the most unsettling grin he could muster … oh, and in his haste he only just realized he still had his hammer held fast and menacingly in his hand as well. If that didn’t get the message across, he didn’t know what would. 

One of the women actually had the nerve to look back with an innocent little smile, as if she didn’t even realize how abrasively loud they’d been speaking. 

“Oh, look at the time. We should go, dear,” she said and swiftly stood up, muttering something most likely offensive as Derek just glared at the both of them until they were gone. 

When he got back inside, he felt oddly proud of himself. However, his contentment did not last long (when did it ever?) as he immediately stopped in his tracks to find three young men underneath a window in a corner of his workshop. They would have to be around the age of seventeen maybe, no older than twenty, surely. They were out of breath and must’ve slipped inside in the few seconds he was out. It was clear they weren’t here for business and Derek had had enough intrusions and distractions for one day. He was just about to not politely ask them to leave when one of them spoke up.

“Do you think any of them saw you?” the dark haired boy hurriedly asked, looking at a hooded, pale skinned boy. 

“I don’t know, Scott, I … I’m pretty sure none of them recognized me,” he responded in a clear and soft voice, sounding slightly apologetic. 

“Okay, they’re gone,” the third boy said, uncomfortably running a hand through his curly hairs and still holding his other hand on a sword that seemed far too heavy for his stature. 

Sighing in relief, the dark haired boy spoke up again, “Stiles, how many times do I have to tell you not to take your hood off? Do you have any idea what would have happened if anyone recognized you?” 

_Stiles_ … Why did that name sound so familiar …?

The boy named Stiles answered quickly, “I know! I know! I’m sorry, okay! I promise I won’t do it again.”

The armed boy snorted in derision, “You do realize that’s the fourth time you’re making that promise, right?”

“This time, I mean it. I’m sorry,” Stiles said as he scratched his neck and sagged down against the wall in relief … only to start back up when he finally noticed the presence of the annoyed blacksmith.

“Oh shit, we’re not alone,” he said, patting the other two on their sides. 

“Stay back, we don’t want any trouble,” Scott said as he swiftly moved in front of Stiles together with the other boy who was already struggling to keep up his sword. 

Derek only raised his eyebrows, clearly not feeling threatened in any way. 

“I would put that sword down if I were you,” he said. “You might hurt yourself.”

This elicited a snort from the hooded boy in the back … _S-Stiles_ , was it?

“Do you three mind telling me what the hell you’re doing here?” he consciously decided to sound somewhat aggressive. He wanted to be left alone as quickly as possible, yet he was almost sure he could discern a smile on the shadowed face behind the two others. 

“We were just … just passing by. We’ll leave now,” Scott spoke determinedly as he pushed the other two to the door. 

“You better,” Derek said, glad to be rid of them so easily. He followed them with a fixed gaze until the first boy stopped in the door opening and pushed the other two back in. 

“Isaac, what’s wr—” Stiles started.

“They’re checking houses!” Isaac said alarmed, “They’ll be here any second, we have to hide!” 

“Is there a back exit?” Scott shouted as softly as possible in Derek’s direction. 

Derek only shrugged, this was in no way his problem. In response, Scott only gave an annoyed grunt and pushed his two companions behind a table into a tiny storage room. 

Noticing the lack of leaving that was happening, Derek was just about to personally kick these brats the hell out of his house when there was a hard knock on his door. 

Cursing under his breath, he stepped towards it, intent on letting in whoever was there and pointing at where the boys were hiding. When he was met by one of Deucalion’s castle guards, however, he couldn’t quite bring out any words, out of sheer surprise. He thought the boys must have stolen something and just expected some random citizen looking for them. Anyway, he didn’t have time to think it over any further as the guardsman started speaking in a stern voice. 

“We lost some rebels in this area and they might have gone hiding in one of the houses here. Tell me, have you seen any of them?” the man demanded rudely. 

“And who would these rebels be, exactly?” Derek answered. 

“They’re rebels. It doesn’t matter who they are. Now have you seen them or not?” the guard seemed even more annoyed now. 

“Okay, on what side would these rebels be then?” Derek asked undeterred and slightly amused. “It’s kind of hard to keep track of who exactly the _rebels_ are in this town?” 

The guard clearly needed some time to process what he had just heard, yet Derek wasn’t afraid of some puny guard with a big mouth. 

“You better watch your tongue, blacksmith, if you want to keep it,” he said with a mad grin.

 _This again … Screw it,_ Derek thought. He’d dealt with people like this before, those new guards who thought they were untouchable. But as the only blacksmith in town, Derek was somewhat untouchable himself. As such, he wasn’t going to give this son of a bitch anything. 

He frowned and said, “I haven’t seen anyone all day, and if you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to work. I’m sure Deucalion would be pissed off if his swords didn’t arrive on time.”

“That’s _King_ Deucalion for you, knave,” the guard said, but he sounded a lot more unsure than he had before. Derek’s posture often did that to people. It wasn’t as if a blacksmith didn’t get a strong body from working all day, and Derek had always been strong, even when he was younger and—

“Well, if you see them, be sure to let us know,” the guardsman said as he left the building, “Or you’ll regret it.”

“Bastard,” Derek muttered to himself. 

He hadn’t even turned around yet when he heard Stiles’ excited voice, “Dude, that was awesome!” He stepped closer to Derek, “I was sure he’d search the house, but you just sent him off shaking in his armor.”

Derek felt a flicker of pride at the praise but was instantly reminded of their situation. He didn’t want to have any trouble with the guards because of these people. He turned around to tell them to leave again, but the sight he was met with gave him pause. 

The boy had taken of his hood. His bright, captivating smile was only further complimented by his big, equally bright, brown eyes. He was looking at Derek’s in innocent contentment and his words stuck in his throat. He couldn’t help but examine the boy even more, as he swept his long fingers through his short, brown hair, still ruffled by the hood he had been wearing. His face was pale and speckled with several small moles. 

Something more than just a flicker was taking a hold of Derek’s mind, an odd sensation. Something he hadn’t felt in a long time and he mentally groaned as soon as he had a good idea of what it was, staring at that sinful mouth until one of the other two snapped his attention away from it. 

“Stiles, for goodness’ sake!” Scott yelled as he came back into the room. 

“What?” Stiles asked dimly, as he turned to face his friend.

“Your hood! How many more times do I have to—”

But Stiles only returned a disarming smile as he replied, “Scott, it’s cool. This guy saved us! It’d be kinda counterproductive for him to turn us in now, right?” He looked Derek straight in the eyes and Derek tried to shake off whatever he had been thinking, trying to regain control of the situation. 

“Could you just get out of here now,” he said firmly.

Scott and Isaac were already moving to the door, but Stiles remained in place, lifting an eyebrow in amused confusion. 

“Don’t be so sour,” he said, grinning mischievously and making Derek nervous under his scrutinizing look. “You don’t want to know why that guard was looking for us?”

“Nope. Don’t care.” Derek only partly lied. “Not interested.”

“Then why didn’t you turn us in?” Stiles queried. 

“Those guards and their king don’t mean a thing to me,” Derek answered truthfully. “I don’t owe them anything.”

“And we do?” Stiles countered immediately.

Derek huffed a laugh and replied, “No, but I figured that guard was more annoying than the three of you. I’m starting to think I was wrong, though.” 

Stiles snorted once more at that. It was a short, but clear and happy sound. He wondered how Stiles could look and sound so innocent yet have the town guards looking for him. He must have done _something_ wrong …

“Stiles, let’s go,” Isaac insisted, looking out into the street warily. 

Derek turned his gaze from Isaac back to Stiles and pressed on, realizing that the three of them would finally leave him alone. “You should listen to your friend. I asked you to leave politely, and I only do that once.”

“Woah there, tough guy, I just wanted to thank you, so uh … Thanks, um…,” a slight blush crept into the boy’s otherwise confident features, as he continued smiling, “Uh, I don’t even know your name,” Stiles said, scratching behind his ear again. “Some _prince_ I am …”

Scott’s expression turned from disinterest to sheer horror in record time, as he shouted, “Dammit, Stiles, you said that on purpose!”

 

* * *

 

Stiles kept his gaze firmly set on the blacksmith, despite Scott’s anger. 

So what _if_ he might have let slip his true identity slightly on purpose. This man had saved them without even knowing who they were and he wanted to thank him properly. The fact that their apparent hero looked like a wet dream come to life was but a pleasant bonus. Also, Stiles hated always having to hide who he was now, having to hide that he was still alive and that one day, he’d get his revenge on Deucalion for what he did to his family. 

But all of that mattered little now as he looked at the man with enquiring, bright eyes and an enduring smile. 

“Derek,” the blacksmith slowly breathed out, immediately thereafter looking as if he hadn’t actually planned on telling his name, but Stiles could work with that. 

“So, Derek, I had heard there was a new blacksmith in town a while ago, but I never had a chance to meet you. It used to be my one ambition to know every single person in this town, you know?”

“Well, now you have, so can you just leave before you get me in any more trouble?” 

Isaac’s distressed voice made them both turn their heads back at the door, “Damn it, there are guards patrolling everywhere. Seems like they’re still on high alert. There’s no way we’ll be able to get out of town until it gets darker, and that’s not for another hour or so.”

“Seems like we have to stay for a little while longer then,” Stiles responded, sounding far happier than he had intended, but any minute more he’d have to ogle at the blacksm— _Derek_ was a minute well spent. “If you don’t mind, of course,” he quickly added as if he hadn’t even heard Derek’s last words. 

Stiles prided himself on his people skills and he knew he was very good at assessing and predicting people’s reactions. But then it turned out Derek wasn’t like ordinary people. 

“Well, I do mind, so would you just get out of here. Now,” he said curtly. 

While he was slightly taken aback by that, Stiles didn’t let this get to him. He knew the blacksmith must have just been joking or … hmmm … okay, he did look pretty serious, with his firm, determined face, calloused hands gripping onto his arms as he crossed them in front of his perfect, trapezoid upper body, showing off the power and mass those very arms held as well. Um … this was not exactly where he had intended to go with his thoughts. 

“But … But if we go out they’ll find us, and … they’ll …,” Isaac started, puppy dog eyes in full power. 

“Not my problem,” Derek said. Stiles was amazed at the man’s resilience against Isaac’s puppy gaze, he truly didn’t think there was anyone in the kingdom immune to its powers. But right now, they needed to stay safe. He had to convince Derek, and if lightheartedness and logic wouldn’t work on him, then sentiment would have to do. 

“So, you don’t care that they’ll kill us, just like they killed all those people in the castle?” Stiles said remarkably cold. “You don’t care when innocent people are killed?” He was amazed at how little emotion he was able to put into the words. His father’s death most of all still lay heavily on his heart, but he knew he didn’t have time to mourn now ... not yet. He needed to stay strong, optimistic.

And somehow – he couldn’t quite say why –, he already knew Derek would let them stay, would keep them sheltered, just like he had already done minutes ago. Even if he only just met the man, he felt something coming from him, an aura that just felt … safe, which was strange, since the man looked at them in almost perpetual annoyance and the occasional confusion. But Stiles noticed something else in those eyes, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on—

A long sigh broke the silence and Stiles’ thoughts. 

“Fine,” Derek said, “But as soon as those guards are gone, you all better leave me alone immediately.” 

Stiles did a mental happy dance, it seemed he did still have awesome people skills after all. Derek had just needed a little convincing, but he was a good guy in the end, just like he had thought. 

He conveyed his gratitude through a broad smile and added, “Thank you, Derek.”

Again, for some reason, Derek seemed slightly unsettled by this. Maybe it was just another show of increased annoyance, as his eye-rolling would also indicate. But there was something tugging at the corner of his mouth, as if the annoyance was only a mask for some tiny amount of odd fondness. Maybe, the guy just hadn’t heard a “thank you” in a long time. Stiles knew he had that effect on many people and had used his charm many times before … yet even so, something seemed different about Derek. 

“I’m ahead of my shipments, so I can already close up for today anyway,” Derek explained, locking the front door with another clear sigh and pointing the men towards what must be his living quarters. Stiles thought he wouldn’t be very keen on letting them in there, but it seemed Derek must have noticed their tiredness. Since there weren’t any comfortable spots in the workplace, Stiles really hoped there would be some behind that door. 

They entered a medium sized room with several cupboards, a fireplace, a table and some chairs. There were also some stairs leading up to the upper floor partly behind a wooden panel.

“You two should rest up a bit,” Scott said with a distrusting look at Derek’s back as he took something out of a closet. “I’ll keep an eye on the streets in the meantime.”

Stiles was taking in the rest of the cozy room when Derek spoke up right behind him. 

“Don’t touch anything,” Derek said loudly, and he moved up the stairs without glancing back. 

As the minutes passed, Stiles tried to settle down, but he couldn’t find any respite on one of those hard, wooden chairs like Isaac had done. He felt restless and decided to take a look upstairs. Isaac wouldn’t be of much use now anyway, so he could go and see what their humble savior was up to.

“I thought I told you to leave me alone,” Derek huffed as soon as Stiles reached the top of the staircase, taking in the blacksmith’s bedroom. The sun was still out, but Derek had lighted a candle nonetheless as he sat down on a chair against the wall opposite to Stiles, reading a book. 

“No, you only told us not to touch any of your stuff,” Stiles said with an amused expression, “Which I haven’t, for the record.”

It was a good sign that Derek didn’t send him off right away, at least in Stiles’ opinion. So he decided to just stand there a little bit longer, shuffling his feet until Derek felt like talking. 

Quite unsurprisingly, the blacksmith remained quiet, though he _did_ notice Derek glancing at him over the top of his book occasionally. 

The man _was_ , and at the same time _wasn’t_ , quite what Stiles had expected a blacksmith to look like. The last one, who had died shortly before Derek must have come to town, was an old, grey giant of a man. He had had gigantic arms but other than that he was unbelievably fat from all the ale he drank each night, which most likely eventually led him to his death. 

Derek was nothing like that. He was young, probably but a few years older than him, and he looked remarkably strong. Stiles would be lying if he wasn’t amazed by the man’s build. His muscles seemed to have muscles on top of them, and then some. And then he hadn’t even considered his perfectly stone hewn face yet, with just the right amount of stubble and that messy black hair. Stiles felt slightly dreamy when Derek woke him from his reverie. 

“What are you doing here?” Derek asked more resigned than annoyed. 

“Oh um. Nothing, just looking around. Maybe see if you wanted to talk or something?”

“Well, I don’t. There are lots of things I’d much rather do right now.” Derek replied in a deep, manly and so entirely non-sexual manner … and in no way did that unexpectedly send a charge straight to Stiles’ nether regions. Not at all.

“Um, like what?” Stiles asked, not even knowing why he asked that question as Derek was clearly reading a book. Though, he could think of a few things he wanted the blacksmith to do ... 

As he caught himself thinking in this manner, he thought, _God, Stiles, you’re a prince! Bloody act like one!_

Why was that so hard? What was happening? Normally he had an easy time keeping his composure, but something about this man seemed to get to him, seemed to make him flush hot and red without any effort whatsoever. Sure, there was the fact that he was ridiculously handsome, but still, Stiles used to see good-looking people all the time, he never felt this … fascination …

Derek appeared almost constipated as he looked back down at the book he was reading and said, “I’d like to finish this book for starters.”

“Oh, you’re reading?” Stiles asked and quickly fumbled over his words. “I mean, of course you’re reading. I’m not saying you’re just holding a book in your hands to _look_ like you’re reading. Nor that I think blacksmiths lack the ability to read. Um. Why am I still talking? Heh,” he ended, pressing his eyes closed with an uncomfortable smile. 

His incessant babbling actually prompted a small, amused grin on Derek’s face. A smile that disappeared just as quickly as it had appeared, as if Derek found himself unwillingly doing so and immediately frowned it into submission with the added power of his dark, black eyebrows. But it was a smile nonetheless. He focused back onto his book and it was a good thing he did, for Stiles was now outright staring at him. The man’s face looked even more amazing than before. Not that the brooding scowls didn’t have an attraction of their own, but those laughing eyes were a thing of exceptional beauty … and why was he thinking about this so poetically? 

Nevertheless, he was glad that Derek had not sent him away yet. So he decided to do what he normally did best, even if it seemed like he wasn’t that good at it anymore in Derek’s company. He talked.

“What are you reading?” he asked, genuinely interested.

Derek seemed to ignore him even more now. Stiles adamantly stood his ground, but Derek didn’t even bother to look up from his book anymore, completely transfixed on it, so Stiles took matters into his own hands. He approached the blacksmith and bent over to get a better look at the book’s cover, which Derek was now noticeably trying to hide. 

“Wait, I know this book!” Stiles said in sudden surprise. He recognized it from when his mother was still alive and read to him as a child, “I didn’t realize brooding, handsome blacksmiths were part of the intended demographic.” He added with a large grin, slightly oversharing his opinion. 

“Well, I am,” Derek said defensively, trying his very best to not be affected by Stiles’ statement, and doing so poorly considering the blush that crept up. “I didn’t know loud, obnoxious princes were part of the demographic either.”

 _So, the guy knows jokes,_ Stiles thought.

“So whose side are you on?” 

“Side?” Derek asked, finally seeming slightly interested in an actual conversation. 

“You know, in the book?” Stiles prompted. 

“Oh, the wolf people, duh.” Derek said proudly, before he could stop himself.

“Me too!” Stiles nearly shouted in glee, because the wolf people were awesome. “I mean, those bat people may be pragmatic, but they’re total assholes.” He was sure Derek wanted to agree with him but simply wouldn’t let himself. And possibly, the blacksmith was slightly surprised by the prince’s colorful choice of words. Not everyone expects royalty to swear, sadly. 

But Stiles just wanted to talk, he wanted some attention. And now that he had actually found a common interest with Derek, he would keep this conversation alive whatever the cost. 

“So, you do know how the book ends, right?” Stiles asked blushing. He looked closer at the book’s cover and, from the state of it, realized Derek must’ve had it for quite some time. 

“I’ve read it eight times already, so _yeah_ , I know what happens,” Derek scoffed, almost sounding offended, and Stiles thought that was just the most adorable thing ever, forgetting for a moment that the blacksmith probably had over fifty pounds of muscle on him. He didn’t forget that for long, though, because how could one look at a fine specimen like Derek and not be aware of all those—

Clearing his throat, Stiles continued, “Eight times? And you’re not bored with it yet?”

“No,” Derek simply said, as if the mere idea of that was unthinkable. 

“You don’t wanna, I don’t know, talk about … stuff instead, or …” Stiles asked.

“Not really,” Derek said with a smirk, further ignoring Stiles’ pleas for attention. 

Woah, hang on. Derek was _enjoying_ this, wasn’t he? Making Stiles beg for attention like this. Well, he couldn’t have that, now could he?

After a few more seconds of silence, Stiles finally decided on grabbing Derek’s attention a little more directly. 

The blacksmith was engrossed in whatever part of the book he was at when Stiles carefully, yet in one smooth and swift movement, snatched the book out of his hands, moved back a few steps and held it behind his back in a sudden surge of playfulness. 

Derek didn’t jump up and attack him like the brute some might mistake him for, which was a good sign. Although, it did look like it took some restraint for him not to. 

“Give it back,” he said slowly and neutrally, clearly enunciating every single word. 

“Oh, so _now_ I’ve got your attention,” Stiles said with a grin. From what he understood, this book did have some value to Derek, probably mostly emotional. He felt kind of bad for taking it now, but the self-confident, mischievous glint in Derek’s eyes suddenly made him feel less concern for the other man, and more for himself. 

“I’m telling you. You _better_ give it back right now,” Derek replied calmly, sending shivers down Stiles’ spine.

Stiles felt foolishly brave as he held it out in front of him.

“Well, it’s right here. Take it if you want,” he said, like the prey goading the predator to advance. 

He had hardly blinked or Derek was already out of his chair and right on him. A mantra of _oh crap, oh crap, oh crap, oh crap, …_ going through his head as, for a second, he thought he’d pushed it too far and the blacksmith was going to attack him. He’d all done it in good spirit, but maybe Derek hadn’t seen it like that after all. 

In a reflex, he pulled back the book, but did it so sudden that he found himself almost falling over backwards. It seemed Derek hadn’t expected Stiles to be quick enough to move the book away as his one hand flew through the air, grasping where the book had been a second ago. Unable to stop himself from falling any longer, Stiles dropped the book and instinctively grabbed for Derek’s arm still in the air in front of him, finally getting a hold of the muscled forearm and taking the completely baffled blacksmith down with him, until they both toppled to the ground. 

Stiles was still too confused by what the hell just happened in those last four seconds as he found himself on the ground with a warm and heavy cliché pressing on top of him. 

“Um …,” he stuttered as he felt a hot breath on his lips and looked straight into the shocked blacksmith’s large, hazel eyes.

 

* * *

 

 _What was this guy’s problem?!_ Derek knew he should be angry, heck, he _wanted_ to be angry. That book was one of the only things he had left from his old life and he would’ve killed anyone who but dared to lay their hands on it, yet … here he was, quite clearly _not_ killing Stiles. On the contrary …

The ache, the urge he felt himself, deep down, left no place for anger to grow. How did Stiles succeed in making him talk when he didn’t want to, even getting a smile out of him? Hell, how did they get here of all places, like _this_? 

He needed to get up, needed to just take the book that was lying next to them and scold Stiles for his clumsiness, but something kept him locked in place. 

How Stiles was so close to him. How his pink lips stood out so much on his normally pale but now flushed face. How he fit and looked so perfect underneath him, skin touching through thin layers of clothes. How Derek himself was leaning on his forearms now, one at either side of the prince’s head, staring into those curious, large, shining brown orbs, his head hovering so close to those small dots that he could almost trace all of them. How he _wanted_ to sink down and—

“Stiles?” a voice called from downstairs.

Derek was back on his feet in seconds as Stiles lay still on the floor, seemingly frozen in place. 

The way in which the prince affected him was not really up for debate, what with the still growing hardness in his pants that would not be so easily forced away as his mind still kept supplying him with the look and feel of Stiles under him. God, he hoped Stiles hadn’t noticed that.

“Stiles, I—” Scott stopped when he noticed the prince on the floor, which was hopefully enough of a distraction for him not to see Derek’s face right now. “Um … What are you doing on the floor?”

Stiles snapped out of whatever stupor he was in and formed an apologetic smile as he answered. 

“Just resting,” he said, huffing a breath and refusing to look anywhere near Derek’s general direction. 

When Scott raised an eyebrow at him, Stiles added, “What do you think happened? I fell, you doofus.”

When Scott seemed content with that answer, Derek figured Stiles must have been prone to accidents like losing his footing all the time. 

Scott looked down at Stiles quite gravely, though, as he said, “We can’t leave yet. The guards are still patrolling the streets everywhere, and it looks like it’ll be like that for a while. Even if we get out on the street without being seen, we’ll be too much of a target. We won’t get far before one of the patrols is bound to find us.”

Turning towards Derek then, Scott already seemed to beg him with his eyes, be it reluctantly so, and continued, “Blacksmith, I humbly beseech you to allow us to stay here a little longer. As you already know, Stiles is the prince of this kingdom and if we d—”

“Okay,” Derek breathed out before he could really think it through, and why would he? 

The understanding tone of his voice clearly had Scott surprised but the young man seemed grateful, judging by his somewhat sad smile. 

“Then, on behalf of the prince and the royal family, I thank you,” Scott murmured.

“Thanks, Scott, but I can thank the man myself,” Stiles perked up, “And no need to be so formal by the way.”

Stiles looked collected but some of the sadness and tiredness in Scott’s eyes were reflected in his expression as well. Derek realized his light humor and liveliness might not always be as sincere as they seem. 

“How did you …” Derek started asking as Stiles and Scott looked up at him, “What happened to the three of you?” It was out of his mouth before he even realized. He had not wanted to pry. Of all people, he knew how much he hated it when people tried to get him to talk about his past. Nevertheless, he couldn’t help but ask. He wanted to know and couldn’t stop this strange, building curiosity. 

When Stiles started getting up, Scott stared at him and kept quiet, as if he was waiting for his prince’s permission to speak. Stiles calmly picked up Derek’s book, handed it back to him with a half-smile and settled down on a chair as the third boy ( _Isaac_ was it?), appeared at the top of the stairs as well. 

“If you really are the prince, then how did you escape the castle? I heard no one made it out alive.” Derek stated matter-of-factly, carefully examining the tired faces of both Scott and Isaac before settling on Stiles’ that seemed stuck on that same little smile despite the gravity of the subject. 

“Well, the three of us are still alive.” Stiles said. “I …“

“You don’t have to—” Derek started. He didn’t mean to be so inquisitive. He didn’t want Stiles to relive whatever horrible events he already went through just so he would know what happened. Some little part of him also didn’t want that barely alive smile on Stiles’ face to fade away. 

“It’s okay,” he interrupted Derek. “I’d want to know too if I were you, and you’ve been really accommodating and patient with us. I’ll tell you what happened.”

Derek settled back down into his chair, his book already lying forgotten on his desk, his gaze never left Stiles’ mouth as he spoke up. 

“It all happened about two weeks ago. It had been a really normal day to be honest, incredibly dull. My dad was supposed to have a meeting with some of our kingdom’s nobility and had asked me to attend as well. I completely forgot of course and while I was running after Scott to the meeting, it all went to hell.” 

Stiles wasn’t smiling anymore and his expression was one of dark, yet controlled anger as he continued. 

“Some of the nobles had conspired against my dad. Must’ve had something to do with the recent tax raises specifically aimed at them. The guards they brought quickly started fighting ours and let in Deucalion and his troops. With their added strength, they made quick work of the royal guard and the nobles that had remained true to my father.”

Derek noticed how Stiles had started looking outside into the dusk lit sky when he swallowed his anger and went on. 

“They had been part of the royal army once, Deucalion and his men, but they disgraced my father after an unauthorized attack on a border village that severely injured the relations we had with our neighboring kingdom. Deucalion just … held a grudge against us, I guess. He was back for revenge. We didn’t expect— we didn’t …”

Scott gave a soft cough prompting Stiles to continue, or maybe just to make sure he was okay. 

“We heard them, you know,” Stiles’ eyes finally returned to Derek. “We heard the fighting and I couldn’t reach my dad fast enough. Scott tried to stop me of course, but I had to get to him. It didn’t matter in the end, of course, we were too late. I saw Deucalion cut his throat right in front of my eyes and there was nothing I could do. If only I’d gotten there earlier. Maybe if I hadn’t forgotten about that meeting—”

 _Then you’d be dead too,_ Derek thought sorrowfully just as Scott uttered those very same words out loud. 

The steady tone Stiles kept had broken then and when Scott seemed to offer to continue for him with nothing but a kind look, Stiles gave a curt nod in silent gratitude. Derek figured the two of them went far back and must’ve been friends for a long time already. 

“What happened then? How did you get out?” Derek asked Scott, failing at keeping his curiosity in check again, and side glancing Stiles to make sure he was okay. 

“I pulled Stiles away from there, which wasn’t an easy task as he was about two seconds from charging towards Deucalion just when I got to him, unarmed might I add,” Scott said in all seriousness. “But Deucalion sent one of his generals after us, Kali. I got Stiles to follow and we ran as fast as we could. Stiles told me of a hidden escape route only he and his dad knew about, so I followed him and we quickly lost Kali. I think they had blocked the known castle exits and just didn’t expect us to get very far. We were lucky, but most people weren’t. Part of the castle was already burning and we could already hear the screams coming from the servants’ quarters as we got closer.”

At this point, Scott looked at Isaac who was still shuffling nervously at the top of the stairs. “Just as we were making our way to the underground entrance, part of a building at the side of the inner courtyard collapsed. We could still get past the rubble to the entrance, but Stiles stopped walking all of a sudden. He said he heard something and walked towards another part of the ruined building. Underneath one of the fallen pillars, we found the body of one of the king’s knights.”

“Sir Greenberg …” Isaac provided softly.

Scott nodded and went on, “He was clearly dead already, but beside him lay the unconscious body of his squire.”

Isaac settled against the wall he was leaning against and spoke up. 

“Prince Stiles and Scott noticed I was still breathing and shook me awake.”

Derek also noticed Isaac looking at the sword he had. It made sense now. That sword must have belonged to the knight he was squiring for. 

Stiles’ controlled, determined voice made Derek snap his head back towards him again. 

“We ran through the tunnel, got outside and camped out there for a while until we decided to come back to look for supporters in Beacon. We didn’t know Deucalion had already taken care of those until we were in the heart of the town. The only man left in the kingdom now with enough power to stand a chance against Deucalion would be Count Martin. He had fallen ill just before the scheduled meeting and wasn’t at the castle when Deucalion and his men took it,” Stiles explained as he looked a little more pensive. “But I don’t even know if he … He is not the bravest man, so I just ... don’t know.” 

“He will help us, Stiles,” Scott said resolutely as he put his hand on Stiles’ shoulder. “You know Lydia, there’s not a thing she can’t make her father do for her. You two have been friends from the moment you met. I’m sure she’ll help us.”

“I don’t know if ‘friends’ is the word I’d use to describe us,” Stiles said with the traces of a goofy grin at the corners of his mouth, and for a moment Derek wondered what word Stiles _would_ use then, “But I know what you mean. Even so, I don’t know if the Martins are powerful enough to turn the tables. If we could take out Deucalion, the whole rebellion would fall apart, but getting to him won’t be simple and I don’t know if the Martins can get any closer than we could.”

Derek felt troubled as he watched Stiles’ glum face sagging down and staring at the ground. He wished for no one to have to go through something so traumatic at such a young age. He knew all too well what it had done to him and the thought of Stiles turning away from the world like he did, never smiling ever again, tore his heart to pieces. He started to realize why he seemed to care so much for the boy’s wellbeing. Surely, keeping them here one more night wouldn’t be too much of a problem. Everyone raised their heads when Derek broke the silence. 

“You can all stay here until it’s safe again. Tomorrow’s a market day, so you’ll be able to move through the town undetected a lot more easily, especially if you leave during the switching of the guard.” His eyes settled on Stiles’ that were already looking straight into his … slightly more hopeful. “Get some rest. You’ll need it in the morning.” 

Scott agreed with him as he turned to start looking for blankets. There would be enough room downstairs to house them for one night. 

 

It was dark outside now, but still quite warm for the time of day. The room was lit by a couple of candles on the table as Derek walked downstairs carrying the last blanket he had. Stiles had insisted Scott and Isaac get the first ones, despite their many objections. 

Recounting what had happened in the castle had been somewhat daunting and exhausting for all three of them. His friends hadn’t rested as much as he had these last days and they deserved sleep more than he thought he did himself. Isaac fell asleep as soon as he lied down and Scott, regardless of his attempts to keep his eyes open and aimed at Stiles, did not last long either. 

Footsteps down the stairs revealed the blacksmith’s presence, to which Stiles finally raised his head. Derek stepped into the dim candlelight and tossed the soft fabric in his hands towards Stiles.

As Derek blew out all the candles, except for the one he was about to take upstairs with him, Stiles moved to join his friends and sat up against the wall for a second, blanket already covering his legs. He let his gaze fall upon Scott and Isaac and thought deeply as the light of the single lit candle moved away. 

_We’re all alone,_ he thought as he caught himself staring ahead forlornly at nothing in particular. 

The tiniest bit of candlelight was still there and he noticed Derek was still at the bottom of the stairs and … staring at him. He hadn’t wanted anyone to notice his sorrow, but knew his eyes betrayed him. 

“You okay?” Derek asked only slightly uncomfortably. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Spectacular,” Stiles breathed a soft laugh, “It’s just … I only just realized we’re all alone. Right? Here I am trying to reclaim the throne, to avenge my father, and _do the right thing_ , the noble thing. But what do I have to fight back with? Scott and Isaac are loyal, yeah, but the three of us stand little chance against an entire army, let alone the crazy bastard that leads them.” 

“You’re the prince,” Derek said.

“Really, that’s all you’re giving me?” Stiles said in feigned disappointment. “Don’t get me wrong, your powers of observation are in perfect working order, but I don’t see how that helps.”

“Well, from what I heard, your father was a great king. A lot of people would still support you,” Derek countered with his strong voice. 

“But what can they do against Deucalion’s troops? He has used fear and all of his newly gained power to their full extent. Nobody dares go up against him and I have nothing to go up against him with. 

He paused with a deep sigh and looked back into Derek’s eyes. 

“All I have is my blood,” he finished.

Stiles noticed the troubled look in Derek’s eyes and couldn’t help but feel slightly better because of it. He knew the big guy really was kind of concerned, but, the blacksmith’s eyes showed more than just that. The candle in his hands shed light on a vulnerability that reflected Stiles’ own, a brokenness Stiles suddenly suspected they shared. 

He wondered what had happened to Derek in the past to turn him so hostile, to make him want to be left alone all the time. He wanted to ask but knew better than to start prodding for information. Besides, he felt absolutely drained anyway. 

He knew, though, that Derek was a good man, righteous and caring if you got to know him better. Not that he really _knew_ him, they only just met, but Stiles couldn’t help but want to get to know more about him. He could already tell Derek was more than what he showed, more than that rigid, unwelcoming exterior that was slowly dropping. 

“There are still the Martins, right?” Derek put forward. “Your friend Scott seemed pretty hopeful about them, and their daughter, was it?”

“Yeah, maybe. I guess they’re our best chance,” Stiles said, lying down fully and rolling onto his side so he could still see Derek. “We’ll know soon enough,” he finished, conjuring up his best smile to show Derek he was feeling better, and, to be honest, he really kind of _was_.

The candle’s flame had become very small and Stiles could no longer see Derek’s features that well anymore. Moreover, it was getting harder for him to keep his eyes open. 

“Thank you, Derek,” he murmured while he was snuggling into the soft blanket. 

As tiredness took him, Stiles remembered the similarly enveloping warmth he felt on top of him when he had fallen on the ground upstairs earlier, and fell into a dreamless sleep.

 

* * *

 

As soon as the prince’s eyes closed and didn’t seem like they were opening again, Derek moved towards the stairs, attempting to go up as quietly as he could when he suddenly halted to another sleepy mutter. 

“Thank you,” Stiles’ sluggish voice sounded again.

The blacksmith turned around and found himself smiling just a little bit when he noticed Stiles’ steady breathing and closed eyes, indicating he was very much asleep. But something inside him ached.

This boy. What did he thank Derek for? In the end, what good did he do … Stiles and his friends would still have to face a lot of peril, and their chances were still so small. Where did they even find the strength to keep going? 

_There’s nothing I can do. I wish …,_ he thought, as he slowly sat down on the step he had stopped on and looked at the sleeping prince. 

The candle had gone out entirely and the waxing moon was the only source of light somewhat illuminating the room, brightening Stiles’ relaxed features when Derek’s eyes finally adjusted to the low light, remnants of a smile still visible, even if Derek knew that smile was nothing more than a brave attempt at staying strong. He could easily imagine the pain the prince was going through, losing everything, losing everyone. But part of him hoped the boy could feel better, nonetheless … if only a little. 

He couldn’t help but stare, couldn’t even stop if he wanted to and honestly, he _didn’t want to_.

Stiles looked so untroubled now, so much younger than earlier. He looked peaceful and happy, the way he should always look. He focused on every detail, the way the blanket slowly moved up and down as he breathed in and out, the way his eyelids fluttered sometimes as if he was hardly asleep at all and could open his eyes any second to find Derek staring down at him … the way his lips constantly went from closed to open and back again. 

Yet, when Derek noticed the pull, the urge to just get closer and feel … he pushed away. He couldn’t do this. Couldn’t do this to himself, couldn’t do this to Stiles. The boy had enough trouble as it was already. He couldn’t complicate things even further with whatever _this_ was. 

Derek needed to focus on something else, quickly. He couldn’t go down that way. 

The three young men on his wooden floor were still alive. That was something. They had actually succeeded in surviving this long and if they made it to this Count Martin, they might even stand a chance against Deucalion. That would be their best chance. The prince might make everything okay again, the prince might get a happy life again, Stiles—

Derek sighed as he remembered that ridiculous moment upstairs, the feel of the prince under him, caged between his arms and body, so close he could almost feel it now too. But it all felt far too deep, far too … significant. He felt bad for the boy to have gone through something so haunting at such an early age, something Derek himself could easily identify with, even if, unlike the prince’s, his own past grievances had all been of his own making. 

He wanted to keep him safe from harm, wanted to make sure Stiles would never feel the way he did. To make sure he’d never have to go through something like that ever again. 

It was a surge of adrenaline, a barrage of thoughts, instinct and emotions that got Derek rushing up the stairs and roughly pulling the top cupboard of his leftmost closet open, before he even realized what he was doing. He _could_ help. He _could_ go with them. He _could_ keep them out of trouble. 

Keep Stiles safe. 

He only stopped when he found his hands gripping the cool sides of the large box his concerned mind had been set on from the moment he hurried up the stairs; the same state of mind still forcing him to open it and look down at the cold, metal contents. Another ghost from the past, something much more meaningful than the book, something he retained like a scar. 

His legacy. 

His curse. 

In a flash, the box and cupboard were closed and out of sight, as Derek sagged down with his back against it, shivering. 

_I can’t,_ he thought, breathing in and out, hard and deep, swallowing every few seconds. 

After already having lost everyone he loved, he just couldn’t do this to himself anymore. He couldn’t let himself care anymore. 

Besides, Stiles was nothing like him. The prince wanted to reclaim what was rightfully his, wanted his people to know he was still alive, and that was where Derek’s identification with him ended. He only wanted to be forgotten. He wanted to be left alone and never lose anything anymore because he didn’t deserve anything anymore in the first place. 

Tomorrow, the prince and his friends would leave. And Derek would stay.

 

* * *

 

Stiles had slept pretty well. He might have missed his own bed, but two weeks of camping in the woods made this makeshift one seem like the best thing ever. By the time he woke up, Scott and Isaac had already prepared everything for their journey and were now saying their goodbyes to Derek. 

Derek, on the other hand, appeared to be trying really hard to keep a grumpy expression fixed on his face, making Stiles smile unintentionally every so often. 

He hadn’t expected leaving the house would be this difficult, but maybe it wasn’t the house itself, maybe … Heck, who was he even kidding, Stiles kind of wanted Derek to come with them. And by ‘kind of wanted’, he knew he actually meant ‘really, really, really wished’. 

He didn’t even know if Derek was able to protect himself, though admittedly, the man’s physique spoke volumes … even if he weren’t that good at handling a weapon, he could probably pound someone into oblivion. Even Stiles figured he wouldn’t mind being pounded into oblivion if it was Derek who— 

_Nope! Not going there!_ he thought to himself. 

Stiles was absolutely sure of one thing though, even if it still somewhat surprised him, never in those two weeks of running and hiding had he felt as safe as he had here. He knew he couldn’t ask Derek to come, couldn’t possibly expect him to risk his own life for an allegedly dead prince he hardly even knew, on a perilous journey and with a very large chance of not making it to the end alive. 

_Awesome, Stiles. Good you’re staying positive like that,_ he mentally punched himself. 

Derek had seemed troubled the entire morning as well, and frankly, that was understandable since he was still basically harboring fugitives. Though that didn’t explain why he had been actively ignoring Stiles from the moment he woke up. Nonetheless, the man had really helped them out a lot already, and even told Scott he would give them some supplies and weapons before they left. Stiles watched carefully as Derek ducked down to get something out of a large metal coffer in his workplace, focusing for just a second on how Derek’s back filled out the hem of his brown shirt so perfectly, how his powerful leg muscles flexed visibly as he crouched down and up again—

_No! Bad Stiles!_

Derek turned around to face them with two bastard swords and handed them to the surprised looking Isaac and Scott, thankfully not noticing how much Stiles must’ve been blushing. When he looked at them expectantly, his two friends complied and showed him how they handled these new weapons, prompting Derek to finally speak up again.

“You’re both pretty decent. Hmmm, but on second thought, Scott,” he said, “Try this one instead.” 

He took a broadsword from the same metal coffer and swapped it with the bastard sword he’d given. 

When Scott seemed to handle the weight of it well enough in Derek’s opinion, Stiles could’ve sworn he saw a hint of pride in the man’s eyes. 

Stiles had thought the stubborn blacksmith would get through the entire morning without noticing him once, but then Derek turned to him with something else in his hands. 

“Scott told me you had some experience with one of these before,” Derek said carefully as he held out a rapier that Stiles accepted in surprise. “Have you?”

For a while, he could do nothing more than stare down at it in awe. He had not even expected Derek to give him the time of day this morning, let alone a weapon, especially after his clumsy display the night before. When he looked up again, speechless for once, Derek almost seemed amused at his reaction.

“Is that a ‘yes’?” Derek asked, huffing a breath. 

“Uh, yeah. I’m pretty good with these. My dad wanted me to have some basic weapon training and when most weapons didn’t really seem to be my forte, the master of arms gave me one of these,” Stiles said, focusing on getting used to the weapon. It wasn’t much to look at, but its lightness and sharpness made it pretty easy to handle. 

After he tried out a few basic movements to get better acquainted with the sword, he noticed Derek was staring at him.

“Huh,” was all Derek said. 

“What?” 

“Just that I wouldn’t have thought you able to handle any kind of weapon, really,” Derek mocked.

“Hey, I’ll have you know I beat all other contestants of my age group a year ago in the contest at the Whittemores’ party!” Stiles countered, leaving out the part where some of the nobles might have asked their sons to go easy on the king’s only son. Except for Jackson of course. That dick. Stiles knew he had beaten him on skill alone, since the heir to the Whittemore fortune was quite obviously livid after his unexpected loss. 

“You seem to know a lot about using swords too,” Stiles added then. 

“Well, I _am_ a blacksmith. A true blacksmith knows how to use the very weapons he creates. It’s imperative to make them as good as possible,” Derek stated soberly. “ _You_ just make sure you don’t hurt yourself with that rapier.”

“Pfff, I’ll be fine! If you had seen me in action before, you’d know that already.” It was somewhat strange how lighthearted he felt as Scott and Isaac finally moved towards to the door. 

“Okay, let’s go,” Scott said. “We have about fifteen minutes before the guard changes, so we better make them count. Thank you for your help, Derek.”

Scott and Isaac rushed outside and as Stiles moved to follow them, he noticed himself lingering on the doorstep. He turned around and Derek was still there, staring at him with a look Stiles couldn’t quite place. 

What was he going to say?

_I want you to come with us. I just want you nearby … ?_

He couldn’t do that, he couldn’t ask for that.

“T-thanks, for all your help,” he said in the end, scratching his hip uncomfortably. “Maybe I’ll see you again sometime.” 

He turned around before Derek could see the renewed, mad blush on his face. Just as he rushed out of there, he could make out a slightly strangled sound from inside.

“Yeah … Good luck,” Derek’s voice sounded as the door closed behind him. 

“Stiles, you okay?” Scott asked with a concerned look when Stiles stepped in beside him among the large throngs of people. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Stiles muttered and continued more resolutely. “We shouldn’t delay. Let’s go.” 

As he followed Scott and Isaac very closely, so as not to lose them, he found himself unable to get Derek out of his head. They were nearing the city’s East gate when he was struck by a sudden case of _I’ve got a bad feeling about this_. No one was walking through the gate when they got there. While this wasn’t that rare, especially on a market day when everyone would stay in the city more, he felt like the gates could fall down in front of them any second and trap them inside of the city. When they passed it and the gates stayed firmly up, Stiles breathed out in relief, but it seemed he had done so prematurely. 

A large formation of guards covered the entire expanse of the Eastern Bridge, swords threateningly raised in their direction. In front of them, a familiar woman grinned at them wickedly.

 

* * *

 

Saying Derek was in a state of distress would have been quite the understatement. The moment Stiles had let the door close behind him, worry started to take root in him. One that was only exacerbated by the fact that for the last few minutes, he had seen a lot of guards pass by his window in a hurry. 

Things often tended to get kind of rough on a market day, so it was not that unusual for the guards to be all over the place, but Derek couldn’t shake that bad feeling. 

To make matters worse, an older black-haired guard actually stopped in front of his workshop and brashly came in. Derek honestly couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this on edge. His uneasiness, however, quickly turned into shame and anger when he realized what the man was there for. He had come to collect a large order of weapons that Derek had already completed a week ago. But only now did he truly realize, only now did he actually care: these weapons would go to Deucalion’s men, men who would fight and try to kill a certain frustratingly charming prince if they had the chance. 

_Hypocrite._

When Derek just stared at the man in horrid realization, the guard’s patience already seemed to have run out. 

“Do I look like I have all day?” the intrepid man said as if having to enter Derek’s workshop by itself was like having to purposely step into horse shit. “I’ve got some rookies to scare the living crap out off, so can you just give me the weapons already? They’re waiting outside to do the heavy lifting,” he finished with a grin. 

“They’re not ready yet,” Derek replied swiftly and uncertainly, immediately berating himself for his own indecision.

“What?” the guard complained. “I think I misheard. They were supposed to be done by today, blacksmith! You mean to tell me you have nothing to give me? Nothing at all?”

 _What the hell are you doing, Derek. Snap the fuck out of it,_ he thought to himself.

“The metal you gave me was terrible, so I had to start all over,” Derek spoke up louder, more resolute and as annoyed as he could make himself sound. “I can’t work with horrible materials like that so you pretty much wasted my time these last days. You got a problem with that?”

“On the contrary, I think _you_ are the one having a problem,” the guard sneered, unsubtly grabbing for his sword. 

“Oh yes, great idea,” Derek said with a monotone voice, crossing his arms in front of his chest, “Attack the only person in town who can actually make weapons.”

This seemed to halt the guard’s advancement, as he spoke up in a more nervous tone, irritation visible on his face. 

“Hmph, you’re lucky I like your guts, kid. When will they be ready then?” 

Derek shrugged. “They’ll be ready when they’re ready. I’m sure Deucalion wouldn’t want his guards’ weaponry to fail them just because one single guard didn’t think it was important for them to be made properly.”

“You think so, huh?” the guard tensed with a large grin as he backed off to the door. “Well, when they’re ready, find a guard and tell him to look for Finstock. That’s me. I’ll come get them then.”

The guard left and Derek breathed in relief, but …

“What the hell did I do?” he whispered to himself, looking down at the palms of his hands. 

He had he been making weapons for the enemy for a few weeks already and, now that he knew, now that he didn’t want to anymore … What would he do? He basically just convinced the guard that the weapons would be done later, but they were already done and he had no intention of handing them over. Just the thought of doing so made him sick to his stomach. The thought that the boys might die because of something **he** created.

He stood up abruptly, eyes unfocused and still deep in thought.

_I can’t stay here. I have to leave this place._

He didn’t even care that much about losing his workplace, his house. He just needed to get away, he needed to gather some stuff from the—

The door opened with a creak and heavy footfalls. 

Damn it. They must’ve realized he was bluffing and were here to either force him to deliver the weapons or kill him. 

Derek readied himself to take up one of the swords at his side and kill whatever guard had entered his workshop before they’d even have a chance to strike him. The element of surprise would be on his side; there’s no way they saw him as a threat since all they knew about him was that he was a blacksmith. When he turned around in a flash, though, his eyes did not meet a guard. They spotted the person who had been on his mind from the moment he had left, breathless and tear-eyed.

“Stiles…?” Derek said tentatively, as if the prince could turn out to be nothing but an illusion any second. 

The prince tilted his head and looked Derek in the eyes, still breathing far too erratically to actually utter any words. 

In mere seconds, Derek was at his side, pulled him down to sit, keeping his hand firmly in place on his shoulder, and started unconsciously rubbing Stiles’ back with the other, smoothing out his breathing.

“I need you to calm down, Stiles. Calm down and tell me what happened, okay?” Derek said with all the composure he could muster, already having noticed the absence of Stiles’ two companions. 

“Trap.” His breathing was slowly starting to even out but his heart was still beating so fast Derek could easily feel it in Stiles’ lower back. “It was a trap. A-As soon as we left town through the East gate, Kali and her troops were waiting for us.”

Derek knew not to push. Stiles would tell everything in his own time, but he felt something clawing at the inside of him, something wanting to make everything better for the prince, wanting to take away all causes of his fear and sadness. So, as he waited for Stiles to explain, he focused all of his attention on helping him calm down, keeping him grounded, his right hand moving across Stiles’ back from one side to the other. 

“Scott, he—” Stiles started, clearing his throat and oppressing a sob, “He told me to run. Said Isaac and him would try to buy me some time.”

Derek already felt where this was going.

“I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to run, but he yelled and pushed me back behind the gate. I never saw him like that. There were guards coming from the other side too, but I still made it past them, Isaac saw to that,” Stiles stared down at the ground, shivering like he was seeing it all again. “I didn’t want to run, but I-I couldn’t …” 

Stiles paused to suppress another sob and stared into Derek’s eyes once more, “I’m sorry. I-I didn’t know where else to go.”

Only then did Derek realize the danger they could be in at that exact moment. What if someone had seen Stiles enter his house?

Slowly, he stepped away from Stiles, who seemed to hang on to him now like his life depended on it. Derek allowed his hands to linger a little while longer, and then moved to the door swiftly and looked out to make sure Stiles hadn’t been followed. When he couldn’t immediately spot any guards or suspicious movements, he was about to close and lock the door when he heard two townspeople close to his shop entrance talking excitedly.

“Did you hear?” the left one said. “Apparently, the guard just caught two young royalists. They say they’re gonna have them beheaded in the morning.” 

“Yes, my wife was there when it happened. Poor boys,” the right one responded sorrowfully. “God knows we’d all be royalists if it wouldn’t cost us our lives in the end. If only—“ 

“Will you keep it down!” the other man said in an overtly hushed manner, staring at Derek’s receding shadow with fear in his eyes. “Do you have a death wish or something?” 

Derek quickly closed the door and turned back to Stiles who tentatively grabbed at his hand again as soon as he was close enough, and quickly hardened his grip. He still looked like he could break down any second, muttering things like, “It’s all my fault.” and, “What was I thinking?” staring down at the ground with large, wet eyes. 

Again, something surged within Derek. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this concerned for anyone, this protective. He needed to ease Stiles’ pain somehow, and with what he heard on the street, he just might.

“Stiles,” Derek said softly as he knelt in front of him. 

When the prince didn’t immediately respond, Derek raised his voice and carefully pushed Stiles’ chin up, forcing him to make eye contact. 

“They’re still alive.” 

A burst of relief showered over Stiles’ features, but darkened again in an instant. “How do you know?” he asked apprehensively.

“I overheard two people outside, but …” Derek couldn’t get that part out. Stiles had looked so sad and saying this might push him over the edge after all. Yet he didn’t have to say anything as the prince surprised him once again when he himself completed Derek’s sentence in a controlled and even voice. 

“But not for much longer.”

“They will be executed in the morning,” Derek added solemnly, allowing the prince to seek whatever comfort he could find in clutching his hand. He wondered if Stiles even realized he was doing that. 

When he dared to look Stiles in the eyes again, Derek expected to see regret, sorrow or fear, not … _this_. The prince’s eyes scurried around, not focusing on anything in particular, until they finally settled back onto Derek’s with purpose. 

“Then there’s still time. I can still …” His eyes started to become unfocused again as he struggled to bring his thoughts into words. “They must have imprisoned them in the detention cells of the old palace because the new castle doesn’t have a dungeon, so they have to be there!”

Derek finally understood what Stiles was getting at and couldn’t keep himself under control anymore as he raised his voice.

“So? What? You’re going to go after them? You do realize that’s exactly what Deucalion expects you to do, right?” 

“I don’t have a choice, I have to save them,” Stiles said quickly, eyes begging Derek to understand.

“Stiles, you can’t! Scott and Isaac stayed behind and fought to give you a chance to make it out. You can’t throw that away! Not after their sacrifice. You can’t die!” Derek uttered, only just saving himself from sounding too pathetically emotional. 

Stiles looked at him in surprise and opened his mouth only for no sound to come out. He closed his eyes for seconds that felt like minutes that felt like hours, and when he opened them again, Derek saw the same glint he had seen the night before, accompanied by that smile that wasn’t actually a smile, not a real one anyway, because Derek would not soon forget the sight of Stiles with a genuine smile.

Stiles broke his train of thought then by speaking up. 

“I can’t leave them to die,” he said evenly. “I just can’t. I might be a prince, and I know some might say that I can’t die for the sake of my people.”

“Stiles—” Derek tried, emotion seeping into the way he pronounced that name. He already knew there was nothing he could say to convince the prince only by the look in his eyes now, when that glint turned to fire.

“But what kind of person would I be if I just let my best friends die for me? I won’t do that. I can’t do that, and no one can ask that of me, Derek!” Stiles snapped his mouth shut, swallowed the lump in his throat and looked up at Derek determinedly, crossing his arms and waiting for a reaction.

He would end up looking at Derek like that for some time, because how in the hell was Derek supposed to respond to that? He didn’t want Stiles to go, didn’t want to let the boy consciously walk into his own death. He didn’t care what the reasons were, why he cared so much, even if he was starting to get a good idea. This wasn’t about that. This was about making sure Stiles was okay, about making sure that foolishly brave idiot didn’t come to any more harm. 

“Fine,” Derek breathed out softly, face expressionless and clearly catching Stiles off guard with that answer.

“That’s it?” Stiles reacted with open and honest eyes. “I-I can go?”

“As if there is anything I can say that will convince you not to,” Derek said offhandedly. 

“Derek, I—“

“ _But,_ ” the blacksmith interrupted, “You’re not leaving yet. We’ll wait until nightfall, and then we’ll go.”

“You—Wait, _we_?”

“You can’t possibly think I’m letting you go out there by yourself,” he said, trying his best to sound casual, trying not to put too much meaning into it. The prince could not know about his … feelings or whatever. He wasn’t even sure himself of how, after everything he went through, he cared so much. He didn’t understand. It didn’t make sense, but for now it didn’t have to. 

“I …” Stiles still seemed somewhat lost but recovered quickly. “Okay then. Nightfall. That seems wise. I know a way into the old palace that not a lot of people know about— Well, uh, I guess no one but me knows about it anymore, now. Anyway, it’ll get us very close to where they’re being held, but most likely not close enough to get past all the guards. We may have to fight.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Derek said confidently. “We’re gonna try and sneak past as many of them as we can, and if it comes to a fight, we’ll manage. I remember you boasting your skills with a rapier, right?”

When Stiles smiled back at him hopefully, Derek would’ve melted right then and there if that were humanly possible. The prince still looked somewhat shaken, but there was contentment and gratitude in his beautiful, bronze eyes as well, all at once aimed at Derek. 

Somehow _that_ was even harder for him to deal with than both the impending danger and his unbidden attraction to the stupidly handsome prince together. 

Someone had faith in him again.

 

* * *

 

 _We still have a chance,_ Stiles thought over and over again. He could hardly believe it.

It was strange. Minutes ago, he had been so downright miserable, aimlessly running through the streets of Beacon for quite some time before he noticed he had been heading towards the smithy all along. Now, though, he already felt the newfound hope welling up inside of him. He hadn’t failed to notice how Derek had tried to ease his grief only moments ago. His skin still tingled where Derek had put his hand on his shoulder, where he had made soothing movements on his lower back, enough to bring him out of his dejection. 

But what gave him strength again most of all was the fact that he would not be alone in this. He wouldn’t want Derek to receive any injury, or worse … But that he would help Stiles save his friends made all the difference. It made him not want to be afraid anymore. It made him want to believe that they could do this together and succeed. 

While he sat lost in thought and memory, something suddenly snapped him out of it. It was a delightful smell that made his stomach growl ridiculously loud. He hadn’t even noticed Derek leaving the workplace and so he tentatively followed the scent. It led him to a large kettle above the fire in the room they slept in last night. 

His stomach growled again at the sight and Derek unsubtly cleared his throat, making Stiles turn away from the alluring smell. 

“Hungry?” Derek asked, raising his eyebrows in badly concealed amusement and moving right in front of the pot with a large wooden spoon. 

“Huh? Yeah, kinda. I guess I haven’t eaten in a while,” Stiles said, scratching the nape of his neck and realizing that ‘a while’ actually meant ‘the last two days’. 

“I figured as much,” Derek said, suddenly a lot more serious. “Soup will be ready in a bit.”

“Thank you,” Stiles said solemnly, eyes fixed on the blacksmith’s broad back.

“It’s just soup, Stiles. And I’m not much of a cook,” Derek shrugged as he stirred in the pot. 

“That’s not …,” Stiles blushed. “I mean, thanks for,” he paused a moment, “everything, you know.” 

“Oh,” Derek stopped stirring for a while and eventually took the pot of the fire, “You can go sit down at the table. We’ll eat there.”

And just like that, a few minutes later, Stiles sat in front of Derek slurping the most delectable meat soup he had ever tasted.

“You lying liar,” he said with a growing smile, temporarily breaking the silence and continuing when Derek lifted an eyebrow in confusion. “Not much of a cook, you said.”

“Oh, it’s a family recipe … Not that difficult really,” Derek almost seemed embarrassed for some weird reason and added a somewhat awkward, “Thanks.”

They both focused back onto the bowls in front of them and Stiles figured Derek was probably kind of worried about the coming evening. They might not make it, and if Derek d— if something happened to Derek, it would all be his fault. Why would he even come with him? Did he actually _care_ about the prince’s fate? What else could he possibly hope to gain from this? 

_Maybe, Derek is just really a good person,_ Stiles told himself, as he glanced up and back down before Derek noticed.

“You okay?” Derek asked again with a frown that might be interpreted as a concerned expression. 

Stiles only nodded and let himself get further lost in thought, far too caught up in what they had to do that night. The persistent silence was only broken a few more times by Derek, strangely. He never said anything that important or engaging, but it made Stiles feel a little bit better. Although he didn’t know what to say back, it made him relax just a little bit more, even in spite of the fact that it wasn’t the silence that had him on edge. It was the waiting. The calm before the storm.

“It’s going to be alright, Stiles,” Derek said after a while, clearly having noticed his badly concealed unease. “We’ll get them back.” 

_I know, Derek, _was what he wanted to say. But the thing was, he _didn’t_ know. He didn’t know if he could save his friends in time, if he could rescue them before they were killed, or for that matter, if he and Derek would survive the night themselves. He settled on a nod and tried to smile back, but he knew it looked a lot more sad than hopeful this time. __

__“I’ll be there along with you,” Derek said when Stiles didn’t speak. “We’ll be fine.”_ _

__And how was he even to begin responding to that?_ _

__He wanted Derek with him on this more than anything. He—He _wanted_. It was so strange how the mere presence of someone could make him feel so safe, could make him want to try harder, not give up, and smile more. It even kind of made him want to return the favor and make Derek smile more too. God, that man’s face when he smiled … _ _

__That the blacksmith looked like he was handcrafted by the gods themselves would be obvious to all. Whoever said otherwise was either blind or delusional. But Stiles found it all so confusing. He’d been attracted to guys before, yet somehow this was different. He hardly knew the guy but was already aware he kind of _liked_ Derek too, just for who he was. He felt a connection, one he was almost certain Derek felt too. It was a feeling he couldn’t help but have. One that only weighed heavier upon him as even now in his time of anguish, he could so easily imagine himself reaching over the table and just pulling Derek over to meet him halfway and press their mouths together in an uncontrolled need to forget about everything else that was going on around them. To just feel his lips on his, to feel his tongue taking control of everything, to feel that stubble moving all over and giving his hands free rein to do whatever they please and desire._ _

___Shit! Calm down, calm down, calm down!_ _ _

__As he managed to control his breathing and thanked his lucky stars that Derek couldn’t read his mind nor notice the tent in his trousers, Stiles forced himself to focus on something else. Derek already had to help him calm down when he just got here, he was _not_ going to start losing it now for something as trivial as this. _ _

__What went through Stiles’ mind now was the fact that Derek had already done more than enough for him, and this time, he would even go so far as to risk his own life to help him save his friends. _Why?_ What exactly did that mean, if it even meant anything at all? And why was Derek looking at him so much? _ _

__He wanted to gage Derek for an answer, but knew there were more urgent matters. His reluctance to do so had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he simply didn’t dare, nothing at all. And besides, they both needed a clear head for what was to come. He didn’t need all this confusion and wasn’t going to make this any more difficult on the both of them. They would have time to talk this over later … maybe._ _

__While Stiles was clearing the table, Derek had disappeared up to his room for a while. The prince looked outside and noticed it was nowhere near dusk yet, so he settled down in a chair and let his head fall against the wall behind him with a soft thud. He hardly even noticed his eyes closing and falling asleep._ _

____

 

* * *

 

When Derek returned downstairs, he was amazed to find Stiles sleeping. It was still only afternoon, but Stiles must’ve been tired enough to find some rest regardless, especially considering he had fallen asleep in such an uncomfortable looking position. For a moment, Derek considered moving Stiles, but he was afraid to wake him up. The prince had gone through hell already that day and he seemed so peaceful now, so untroubled. Derek continued staring at him, focusing on Stiles’ every little feature and lost track of time. 

It turned out to be a good thing he kept looking, however, when Stiles suddenly sagged to the left and nearly fell off the chair. Only nearly, though, since Derek was at his side in a flash holding him up. He tried to push Stiles against the back of the chair again, but he always started making his way out of the chair again.

 _How hasn’t he woken up yet?!_ he thought.

He made up his mind then. Stiles needed to sleep, but he needed to do so somewhere a little more comfortable, preferably where he didn’t have a chance of falling onto his face. Stiles was already leaning most of his weight into Derek already so he figured he might as well pick him up entirely. He didn’t really know how to go at it, and then, as much carefully as awkwardly, he held Stiles bridal style and started up the stairs. 

When he had slowly dropped Stiles onto his bed, he was about to get up and leave him to rest when suddenly Stiles head rolled against his thigh, making Derek freeze. Stiles mumbled something incomprehensible and put most of his head against Derek’s leg, so much that if Derek moved, Stiles would move along, and maybe even wake up. He was stuck.

 _Fuck,_ Derek thought. He was so screwed. 

A whole two minutes later, Stiles finally swung back a little, and Derek was free. He moved away silently and immediately missed the warm breathing through the fabric of his pants. Fuck it. He wanted to stay there more than he wanted to admit, maybe even huddle just a little closer, but— he couldn’t. He didn’t feel like he had the resolve to leave the room entirely, though.

 _This is ridiculous._ I’m _ridiculous_

Stiles had him completely enthralled. Derek slowly sat down on a chair close to the bed and picked up his book from the desk. When he found the chapter he was at, he looked at Stiles sleeping form again and moved his eyes over to the closet currently containing the box he’d opened only last night. A part of his past he couldn’t let himself forget.

_This time … This time, they’ll be of use._

He stared back at Stiles and his mind was set. The prince looked so innocent. Bringing something from his painful past back up would be worth it if it could help Stiles. He took his book and started reading again. Sometimes Derek’s own eyes felt a little heavy too, and the bed was starting to look even more alluring. He stayed seated, though, and glanced at Stiles at the end of every page, as time went by.

 

* * *

 

When Stiles started awake, he didn’t realize he was lying in a bed until he nearly rolled off from surprise, only to be stopped just in time by a strong hand grabbing at his upper arm out of nowhere. When he looked up, eyes still sleepy, Derek had already let go of him and Stiles heard him moving down the stairs. 

The prince stood up a little bit too soon and immediately pushed a hand against the wall to keep himself from falling at the sudden surge of dizziness. He stretched his legs and was about to hurry after Derek when he noticed it was already getting pretty dark outside. The sky was still more of a darker shade of blue instead of the black they were probably waiting for, but at least his unexpected nap had taken away some of the waiting. How long had he even been napping?

He found Derek waiting in his workplace.

“You sleep okay?” Derek asked nonchalantly, focusing on something he was kneeled up against.

“Yeah,” Stiles said, only now realizing he had initially fallen asleep on the chair downstairs. “Thanks for letting me get in a few hours.”

“You looked like you could use ‘em.”

So, hang on a sec, Derek must’ve carried him upstairs then? It seemed more likely than him sleepwalking all the way. Stiles figured he must have been really tired then, for him not to have woken up by Derek taking him upstairs. Either way, Derek must’ve been really careful and quiet, because ever since they escaped the castle, Stiles tended to be a pretty light sleeper. He did feel a little better and must’ve slept for quite some time. And wait, Derek was there when he woke up … even stopped him from falling out of the bed and—

“If you want, we can leave already,” Derek said wistfully. “By the time we get there, it’ll be dark enough anyway.”

“Yeah, that sounds good. I don’t feel like waiting any longer,” Stiles answered truthfully, making sure his rapier wasn’t too visible. 

Giving a quick nod, Derek turned around again and picked up a rather large leather bag he fastened over his shoulder and around his back. 

“What’s in that?” Stiles couldn’t help but ask. 

He didn’t miss how Derek slowly looked away from him and quickly turned his head back before he answered the question. 

“Just something that might be useful later,” he said, and Stiles decided to leave it at that. 

They were leaving. Off to save Scott and Isaac. Off into danger, possibly even death— 

Derek put a hand on his shoulder. They were standing so close and Derek only seemed to get closer and closer, his touch comforting Stiles even more. Was this okay? Feeling like this? And what the hell was he even feeling, really? Derek didn’t seem to have a problem with being this close, but there was so much more to all of this. Their eyes met again, and Stiles forced himself to focus on the task at hand. He nodded in understanding. 

_Later,_ he thought. 

Derek nodded back. They were off, together.

 

* * *

 

The cool summer night air not only helped Stiles fully wake up, but they also did wonders on his nerves. Even as they got closer to their destination, he felt himself calming down. Derek, however, did not seem that composed. He kept looking behind them, eyes focusing on every nook and cranny, every shadow, to make sure no one spotted or followed them. He seemed particularly vigilant when one of the town’s lamplighters moved in their direction, lighting one of the last streetlights in the old palace district. There were not a lot of lampposts on the streets in that area, nor were there still that many people out at this hour. They hadn’t even passed a single guard so far. 

All of a sudden, though, Stiles was swept of his feet as Derek unexpectedly pulled him into an alley with his hand clamped over his mouth to shut him up. Stiles would have been annoyed by that if Derek hadn’t indeed muffled an otherwise loud yelp or if he could focus on anything other than the way their bodies were pressed against one another. Either one. 

“I think we’re being followed,” Derek said ominously, instantly clearing Stiles’ head. Derek’s gaze flitted around the corner as he let go of Stiles. “Just wait for a while.”

Stiles was about to respond when Derek swiveled around, staring at something further into the alley, and suddenly pulled him behind his back. 

As Stiles noticed a figure moving towards them in the shadows, he tried to look around Derek, squinting his eyes to get a better idea of whom was approaching them, but Derek kept him in place. 

“That’s close enough!” Derek shouted menacingly. “What do you want with us?”

When the figure took off their hood, Stiles instantly recoiled out of sheer surprise as even in the barely lit alley, he was able to recognize that face. 

“Allison?” he stammered. “What the hell are you doing here?” 

He tried to move around Derek, but the blacksmith held his ground, took his arm and kept him firmly behind him. Before he could tell Derek it was okay, Allison’s hushed voice rang through the alley. 

“Until I saw Scott being dragged off to the dungeons by the guards earlier, I thought the two of you had died when the castle fell, Stiles,” she said, sounding moderately angry, and –yeah– looking angry as well. “You really think I’m going to lose him again?”

“How did you—” Stiles began from behind Derek’s massive stature. 

“There’s no way Scott would have ever left that castle without you, so if he was still alive, that’d mean you would be too. But I didn’t see the guards take you so I figured you must’ve escaped. And seeing as you’re just as predictable as Scott, I knew you’d try and save him, so … that’s why I’ve been around the old palace looking for you.”

“Still, the chances of finding us couldn’t have been that big. How _did_ you even find us?” he asked loudly.

Allison gave him a coy, little smile as she answered, “The rooftops. I can see a lot more from up there and when I noticed two people entering this alley, I thought it was worth looking into.”

Stiles was slightly dumbfounded by that, “Rooftops?! I know you and your dad hunt big game for a living, but that’s ridiculous. There aren’t even any roofs in the forest.”

“I’m pretty nimble,” was all Allison gave as an explanation. 

“You sure we can trust her?” Derek asked sternly, still clamping his hand around Stiles’ arm.

“Yeah, dude. Scott and Allison are crazy for each other,” Stiles said with an almost fond smile, noticing the blush that appeared on Allison’s face as she moved closer to them. “And not even our castle guards could stand up to her when it came to using a bow.”

“So, the two of you have a plan?” Allison said, giving both of them a bashful smirk. 

“There’s a tunnel that connects the old palace dungeons with the nearby graveyard. We’re in luck my ancestors were so big on tunneling, to be honest,” Stiles grinned at Derek and noticed the warmth still on his arm. “Um Derek, you can let go now,” he added, almost reluctantly.

“Derek?” Allison asked at last. 

“Oh right, Allison, this is Derek. He’s the town blacksmith,” Stiles quickly stated.

“Oh, the _blacksmith_ ,” she said slowly, giving Stiles a meaningful look that he sadly did not know the meaning of. “Right.”

“We should move,” Derek said gravely. “The faster we get Scott and Isaac out of there, the better.” 

The three of them quickly left the alley and they arrived at the old graveyard only two minutes later. Stiles still noticed Derek looking around them cautiously and even glancing at Allison occasionally, but he decided to focus his attention on searching for the grave that concealed the secret entrance. 

“Stiles, what’s taking so long?” Derek whispered loudly. 

“Hey, I haven’t used this tunnel since Scott and I were kids, so give me a sec.” 

“You haven’t—” Derek was suddenly a lot closer to him, poking him in the chest. “You do realize a lot can happen to decrepit, old passages in a few years, right? What if it collapsed? What if—“

“Found it!” Stiles said triumphantly, and maybe he gave Derek a pretty smug look, but who cares. 

Hidden from sight behind one of the larger grave monuments, he tried to push away the gravestone on top of the entrance. When it moved but an inch from Stiles’ futile exertions, Derek pulled him to the side softly and cracked his knuckles to take matters into his own hands. _Damn show-off._ In a matter of seconds, the stone lay to the side of a dark, gaping hole. 

It was Derek’s turn to look smug. Stiles would’ve continued their little contest of smugness if he hadn’t been preoccupied with staring at Derek’s biceps the entire time. 

When Derek crossed his arms and raised another one of his impressive eyebrows, Stiles swiftly cleared his throat. 

“Obviously, I loosened it up for you,” he said. 

“ _Obviously,_ ” Derek countered, a smile threatening to appear. 

Stiles narrowed his eyes at him and then looked down into the blackness. A warm, dank air brushed against their faces as Allison lit a torch that revealed the entrance of the crumbling underground corridor. 

“Well, _this_ looks promising,” Derek said slowly as he helped Stiles get in. 

“How poetic that our town blacksmith’s so skilled in _irony_ ,” Stiles paused as they went in deeper, “Get it? Iron-y, and you’re a—“ 

“Yes, I’m just pretending you did not just make that joke.”

“Whatever. Anyway, this passage is still the best we’ve got,” Stiles retorted. “If you wanted to just burst in through the front gates, you should’ve said so.”

“Will you two quiet down?” Allison whispered. “How far does this go on for anyway, Stiles?”

“Not too far, about ten more yards, I think. There’s a wall at the end that only moves if you push the right stone just hard enough. My great-great-grandfather had a thing for fake walls so he had a couple of these built,” he finished proudly.

“Your family sure is something,” Derek whispered behind him.

Stiles didn’t know if he was mocking him or being serious, but what did it matter? His entire family must have been awesome, no matter what people said. 

“Good genes,” he said with a smirk. “Can’t you tell?”

He pointedly ignored Derek’s harrumph and scanned the wall ahead for the one brick that would let them pass. It didn’t take long to recognize which one it was. It was slightly to the left at eye-level, he remembered how he and Scott pushed every single brick when they were younger to get in. When they didn’t find it and Scott wanted to go back, Stiles told him that it must’ve been a brick they couldn’t reach. A minute later, he was standing precariously on top of Scott’s shoulders and nearly fell through when he pushed the right one at last. 

_We’re coming, Scott,_ he thought as the three of them hurried into a long, stone hallway, lit by several crude torches lining the left side every few yards, light flickering over their features as they passed one after the other, slowing down their pace as they got closer to the cells, so that they wouldn’t attract anyone’s attention.

They were nearly there, only two more corners and they had seen no guards so far. Stiles was aching to run, to sprint, those last few feet but he forced himself to slow down. It was better to be safe than sorry, of course. Stiles tried to get Derek’s and Allison’s attention and went on to give them a significant glance. 

Only one corner now. 

He raised a hand for them to stop, leant his back against the wall and slowly moved, trying to glance around the corner. _Careful now,_ he thought as he turned his head at just the right angle so that he could see inside. 

“Empty,” he murmured as he turned back to face his friends. 

Allison looked at him purposely and so did Derek. Even now, his eyebrows seemed to judge Stiles’ sneaking-and-watching-around-corners skills. He rolled his eyes and walked into the hallway, looking frantically at every cell on either side. All empty. 

“Stiles, they aren’t here,” Allison helpfully added. There were a few more cells further in these dungeons, but they used to be completely wrecked. Still, Scott and Isaac had to be in one of those then. They just _had_ to be …

“They must’ve taken them slightly further in,” he convinced himself out loud, trying not to think about the fact that for all the people Deucalion’s guards still imprisoned on a daily basis, there weren’t any of them here anymore. They must deal with their prisoners rather quickly and… yeah, that’s not a line of thought he wanted to follow through to Scott and Isaac right now. 

Yet every cell they passed was empty. The only thing they could hear were their own footsteps and self-doubt started to chip away at Stiles’ resolve. What if he was wrong? What if they never took them here? Or worse, what if they did but they were already too late … He became frantic, restless as each cell was as empty as the last. They must’ve been searching for a few minutes already and still nothing.

 _Where… where are they?_ Stiles stopped in his tracks and tried to control his breathing, balling his hands into fists at his side. Derek and Allison stopped behind him and remained silent. What was he going to say to them, what—

A noise came from far off. Stiles wasn’t even sure it was real until he had gone through another two hallways and the sound turned out to be a soft whimper, coming from around another corner, stopping them in their tracks. Stiles stood frozen as he listened closely.

“… ‘mon Isaac,” Scott’s weary, distinctly worried voice sounded, “Don’t give those bastards the satisfaction.” 

“Yeah,” Isaac quickly breathed out in response, voice small and pained, but strong enough for yet another whimper to echo through the halls, to reach Stiles’ ears. It was all he needed to drop all pretenses of caution and patience, and thoughtlessly run ahead to help his friends. 

He swiftly made it to where the two halls intersected when a hand grasped his arm and tugged him back abruptly, making him flail and turn impatiently, staring into Derek’s eyes, arm still tight in his grip. But Derek was not staring back into his this time. When Stiles followed his gaze, he belatedly understood the panic in Derek’s eyes. He didn’t even have time to curse his own carelessness. 

Several yards into the other passage, in front of the cell that most likely held Isaac and Scott, five, six, seven guards were beginning to look up at them, one by one, in clear confusion. The moment endured for what felt like forever. Derek was the first to break the impasse. 

“Run!” he yelled, already pulling Stiles back into the corridor they came from, only a second before a cold, female voice –Kali’s— followed them around the corner, “Get them!”

 _We were so close,_ Stiles thought as Derek dragged him along, 

He made his choice then. Did he even have a choice, really? 

He pulled his arm out of Derek’s firm hold and ran, like Derek had ordered, but not in the direction the blacksmith probably had in mind. Stiles pressed on and when he turned around the corner again, the guards’ expressions told him he had at least succeeded at taking them by surprise. His hand had found his rapier and this was it. This was the moment he would see if everything he had learned would actually help him in a real, life-threatening situation. 

The guard closest to him went down with relative ease. The man seemed too surprised by Stiles’ sudden appearance to react and was taken out by a lightning quick, upward thrust of the blade in his throat. 

Another guard followed quickly, while the others were still some yards further back, having taken more time to jump into action. This one proved more difficult. He blocked Stiles’ first attack by intercepting it with a slash of his own longsword. Stiles would have to thank Derek later as the smaller rapier was strong enough to withstand the guard’s greater strength. But to the prince, this was never a battle of physical power anyway. He knew his own strength lay in his dexterity. 

He swiftly dodged to the side as the longsword came down again, and this time, his own thrust did connect, finding a way through the man’s unguarded side. 

Concentration and determination battled fatigue as he turned up to face the next threat, two in fact, the first of which was already well upon him, so close that Stiles feared he was done for, too late to push himself out of the way. But the guard suddenly made a strange, guttural sound as he sank to the ground, an arrow lodged in his throat. Stiles didn’t need to turn around to know who had fired that arrow with such deadly precision. Allison had jumped into the fray.

But there was no time for pause. The other guard would only be confused for another second or so as to why the one in front of him sank down before Stiles could even touch him. He rammed his rapier forward but met with crude impenetrable iron. With what failing strength he had left, he threw his whole body into his foe’s and pushed the guard to the side before he had a chance to strike back. 

The sound of another arrow whistling incredibly close to his right ear was enough to know Allison had hit her target again. The guard slumping to his feet immediately confirmed that. 

The resulting feeling of triumph quickly disappeared, however, when he saw the four last guards rapidly closing in on him, in close ranks. Stiles had more fighting spirit than ever before, but his waning strength sadly didn’t match it in intensity. Kali had ordered these men to approach him much more cleverly, actually using the width of the corridor to their advantage. 

_Can’t turn back now,_ he thought as he lifted his rapier and stood fast to stave them off as best he could. 

“Try to take him alive, boys,” Kali sneered from the back. 

Somehow, he knew he was going to be overwhelmed. Even Allison couldn’t take aim that quickly and these men already realized he had an archer backing him. They were more attentive, armor thick and either their shields or Stiles himself safeguarding them from an arrow. 

Without warning, one of the guards charged forward, and all Stiles could do was hope he could hold him off long enough for Allison to get him. But he knew she’d be afraid to hit him, and the familiar sound of an arrow did not come as he braced himself, bringing up his rapier to meet the longsword as it came down hard. The force of it drove Stiles to drop his weapon. The guard immediately thrust his sword forward in response and Stiles could only just throw himself back to dodge it. He was struggling to keep his balance when the guard moved in for another attack and this time he couldn’t get out of the way in time. 

He held up his arms and squinted his eyes, waiting for the final blow. 

Suddenly, though, Stiles noticed a rapid movement in the corner of his eye, rushing past him, followed by the clash of metal on metal. 

The guard’s scream of agony was cut short all of a sudden to the sound of iron slicing through flesh, as Stiles scrambled down to get his rapier back. When he looked up again, another guard lay dead on the ground and Stiles was faced with the broad back of a man, _punching_ the last two guards to an inch of their life while easily dodging everything they threw back at him. In his sheer bafflement by this unexpected turn of events, it took some time for Stiles to realize to whom that back belonged. 

“Derek?” the whispered name was drowned out by the sounds of battle. 

Dodging both the guards their attacks once more, Derek punched …, no, _sliced through_ the throat of the left one, who went down with a bloody gurgle. His movements were so quick and fluid that it took a while for Stiles to catch the metal glint of the appendages on his hands. Claws … _Metal_ claws.

Stiles stood rooted to the ground in awe, as Derek got in close to the final guard’s side and rammed his claws into him, at the same time as another arrow flitted beside him and into the guard’s left eye. 

Suddenly, Derek dashed forward on collision course with Kali. Stiles was even more amazed to see the otherwise fearless, female general look at Derek in shock. She was only just able to deflect Derek’s claws the first time, but he was relentless. He kept going, almost like a ruthless animal, and with a final downward slash into her neck beside her collarbone, Kali went down, eyes frozen in shock, blood gushing from her mouth. 

“Stiles.” 

He didn’t know how long he had been staring ahead completely stunned like that, but Derek was suddenly a lot closer and Allison was picking up one of the guards’ keys. 

“Are you okay?” Derek asked, breathing heavily. 

“I …” Stiles looked down at Derek’s bloody hands. “You. How are you … huh?”

“Someone could’ve heard us. We need to get Scott and Isaac out of here now,” Derek continued.

“That’s not what I …” Stiles started. “I just … didn’t know you could fight. I mean, you look like you could handle yourself, but the um … _metal claws_ were unexpected. You beat Kali like it was nothing. Where did you even ...”

Strangely, Derek looked nervous, ashamed even, under Stiles’ scrutiny. Stiles didn’t get it. For a second, seeing Derek fighting had frightened him, but in the end it just left him awed and grateful. Derek had just saved his life, so why did he look so— 

“You’re right,” Stiles said, realizing they were not out of danger yet. “We need to get out of here.” 

_We’ll talk later,_ he mentally added. 

“Stiles!” 

Scott yelled as soon as he stepped into the hallway, supporting Isaac together with Allison. For a second he feared for Isaac’s wellbeing, but when the squire gave him a slightly pained smirk, it seemed like he would make it after all. His wounds didn’t seem that severe, considering.

“Okay, Stiles, you lead the way,” Allison spoke up, smiling at Scott and helping him with Isaac. “It won’t be long before they figure out what we did here.”

“Yeah, thanks Allison,” Stiles said. 

When he passed a rather glum Derek, he pulled at his arm and tugged him along, “Okay, follow me.”

They had just gotten out of the underground passage into the graveyard and were waiting for the others to come up, when Stiles found his voice again and turned his head to Derek as he moved forward.

“Thank you,” he said softly. 

Derek seemed troubled and confused. He shouldn’t be looking like that. Not after what he did. 

“For saving me—All of us … Again,” he huffed a relieved laugh.

Derek’s eyes softened, but he still looked uneasy. Stiles decided he’d have to find out why later. But for now … 

“Hey,” he said, effortlessly bringing up a smile and putting his hand on Derek’s shoulder, squeezing just a little to help ease Derek’s troubles, whatever they were, and apparently succeeding at least to some extent as he could feel his shoulder go less tense already. “I mean it. Thank you.”

Derek cleared his throat and seemed like he wanted to say something, but his eyes already conveyed a kind of gratitude. Though, maybe that was more for the fact that Stiles wasn’t prodding him with questions right now. At least not yet. 

“A little help here,” Scott groaned.

Stiles moved to help him lift Isaac up but Derek stopped him with a hand against his chest and went to assist Scott in his stead. 

“Scott you’re wounded!” Stiles couldn’t believe he only just noticed.

“I’ll be fine. Isaac got the worst of it,” he responded gravely.

Allison looked worried but she shrugged at Stiles with a tiny smile nonetheless. 

“Is there anywhere we can go?” she asked. “I’m sure my dad wouldn’t mind, but our house is out of town. It’ll take a while to get there and I don’t think it’s a good idea to be that exposed now.”

“Just make for my place.,” Derek said, “You can fix up Isaac and Scott there.”

The trip back to the smithy did not really feel like a victory lap. They’d won! They’d saved Scott and Isaac and everyone got out more or less unharmed, but everyone just seemed worn-out. Most of all Derek, and Stiles really wanted to find out why. He knew he fought well himself, even if he still would’ve died without Allison’s arrows, but it was Derek who really got them through in the end, taking down those last guards and Kali like that. Why did he look so exhausted and beaten?

The entire way back, he tried to keep his eyes on the blacksmith. Before, Derek had seemed so wary, but now he hardly seemed to be aware of what was going on around him. He didn’t even seem to notice Stiles looking at him and that was odd since Stiles knew he wasn’t known for his subtlety. 

When they got back, Allison and Scott prepared a makeshift bed on the table in the room they’d slept in the night before and Derek handed them some salves and cloths to help take care of Isaac’s wounds. They didn’t seem that bad, but there were a large amount of bruises covering his skin, and that was only the parts Stiles could see. He approached his three friends and noticed Isaac looking at him, awake and aware, even with a weak smile barely forming. 

“You’re gonna be okay,” Stiles told him, gripping Isaac’s knee. “It’s gonna be fine.” 

“Thank you for coming for us,” Isaac breathed out, somewhat struggling to speak now. 

“Hey, no problem. And I hardly did anything really. If you need to thank someone, then thank Allison and Derek. They made sure we got to you,” Stiles stopped talking and met Allison’s eyes. She smiled at him fondly and then focused on Scott’s thus far disregarded wounds. 

“This is no time for modesty, Stiles,” she then said. “I had no idea you were that good with a sword. And your— Derek …”

Stiles gave her a look of understanding. He didn’t know what Derek was about, how he fought so well, and how the hell he got a weapon like that in the first place, but he was going to find out. 

Derek had slipped away a few seconds earlier and Stiles figured he’d be upstairs in his room. When he reached the top of the stairs, he opened the door to see Derek sitting on the other side of the room on his bed. A thin candle was lit on the desk nearby, brightening one side of his face, while the moon outside shed a much weaker light on his other side. He must’ve heard Stiles come closer, but didn’t look up, didn’t even move at all. 

_Time to tempt fate once again,_ Stiles thought.

“So,” he said as he took the chair from the desk and sat down right in front of Derek, “Those claws were quite something … um.” 

_Very smooth, Stiles._

“I mean, uh, you mind telling me how a blacksmith knows how to fight like _that_?” he added with a nervous smile. “Not that I’m complaining. You really saved me back there.”

He hadn’t expected Derek to respond as quickly as he did. Nonetheless, with downright gloom clear in his voice, he immediately answered.

“I wasn’t always a blacksmith, you know,” he breathed out long and deep. “I-I used to be known for another … talent. I used to—”

Stiles waited for him to speak, but when no elaboration came, he let out a tentative, “Derek,” and was immediately interrupted as the man spewed out his words in rapid succession. 

“I used to be known as The Dun Wolf,” Derek’s sorrowful face finally turned up to look at Stiles. 

_That name …,_ he thought. It definitely rang a bell, but where had he heard it before. _Think, Stiles!_

Derek’s eyes were downcast once more as he continued, the words coming out more strained and difficult, “I can see that name might not mean much to you, but maybe this one does. My last name …,” his voice was void of pride, shame evident all over his face, “It’s Hale.”

Realization quivered through Stiles’ body. _Hale. Of course,_ Derek _Hale._

Suddenly, Stiles understood.

 

* * *

 

He did it. Derek _finally_ told someone the truth. Finally admitted to someone who he really was. Judging by Stiles’ expression, he seemed to know who he was now … and what he’d done. Stiles was the prince of this kingdom, so it made sense he’d know the Hale name. 

Why did it have to be Stiles, though? Derek couldn’t deny he cared for him, in a way he did not want to even begin to understand, but now he’d already lose him. 

He tried to stop himself from shivering but it felt like he was falling apart at the seams, because this would be where the prince’s kindliness and easy interactions with him would end. This is where they would part. Where he would be shunned completely, for no one should endure the presence of a cursed man any longer than necessary, especially not someone as good as Stiles. The silence was paining. Scott and Isaac must’ve finally fallen asleep downstairs, and as soon as they would be able to move, Stiles would leave with them. 

_This should be nothing new. I always did prefer to be by myself, to be left alone,_ he thought.

But why did that prospect hurt so much now? For years, he wanted nothing more than to cower away, to be forgotten. Yet this time, the idea that he was going to be left alone again did not seem that enticing. Derek had an idea why, but he also knew he didn’t deserve anything like that. He didn’t deserve someone treating him like Stiles did. As the lasting quiet only furthered his dark thoughts, the last thing Derek expected was for Stiles to slowly move towards him. He stopped breathing, stopped thinking, and before he knew full well what was going on, two warm arms were around him. 

Derek knew he tensed, he could not begin to respond, simply out of shock, but Stiles did not relent. 

To feel another’s touch again … It only increased Derek’s astonishment. He was frozen by the warmth of the hand pressing into his lower back. Another hand settled on his cheek and moved close to cup the back of his head. 

_Why …_

He tried to move backwards, out of the prince’s embrace, but found he was lacking strength, or perhaps it was resolve. The urge to just let his head fall down on Stiles’ shoulder was strong, but he fought it nonetheless. Stiles must have misunderstood. He must only know part of the truth, or have him confused with someone else. It was the only possible explanation. He tried to move back once more, but Stiles only held on tighter. He was about to protest when Stiles finally broke the tense silence. 

“Don’t you dare,” he said. “Don’t you dare push me away.”

As if all tension left him all at once, Derek did the only thing he could do then, even if he would regret it later. 

He gave in. He dropped down and went completely limp in Stiles’ arms. He’d forgotten what this felt like.

He had no idea how long they stayed that way, but after a while, with all the willpower left in him, he finally moved away as slowly as he could. Stiles needed to understand. He wouldn’t have done what he did if he knew the truth. 

“Stiles, I—”

“Before you start with what will probably be a total denunciation of yourself filled with self-hate and contempt, let me tell you that none of what happened was your fault. I’m still here, and I wouldn’t be if I didn’t believe that.”

“Then you cannot know the whole truth,” Derek dreaded to ask, but he had to know. “Tell me. Tell me what you know.”

Stiles surprised him with a small grin, “Do not underestimate my knowledge of things. Both the Hale and Argent families were under my father’s rule and while what truly went down between them might not be known by most of the populace, I do, Derek. I know.”

“How could you possibly try to console me if you did? It’s because of me that so many died … my family, my friends ... I could just as well have set the fire myself,” his voice shook, not in sadness, but in anger. He needed to get this out. He looked down at his hands and spoke onwards, “On that day, I vowed to never use those claws again. Derek Hale died that day.” 

“My father,” Stiles interrupted with a voice softer, yet much stronger than Derek’s, “I remember that he had tried his best to keep a lid on what happened between the Argents and your family. Internal strife would make our kingdom seem weak, and that was something we couldn’t afford in those days. But I did hear the truth the day after it happened.”

 

* * *

 

Stiles still remembered it all very well. Years ago, pretty much everyone knew of the age old feud between the Hales and the Argents, but not many knew how it ended. Both were noble and respected with outstanding statesmen and warriors, so it never got to an open conflict. But that animosity had always been there. Stiles remembered his father’s numerous attempts at reconciling the two families, but to no avail. Until one day, something wonderful reached their ears, something that could finally unite them.

Derek had been staring at him, looking so forlorn and vulnerable. _No wonder he looks like that. Carrying that guilt with him for all those years._ He couldn’t let this go on and spoke up, bent on convincing Derek of what he held true. 

“A forbidden love between the eldest son and eldest daughter of both families. I still remember how relieved my dad was when he told me. I didn’t even know your families, but it all seemed so beautiful, like in one of the many books I had read. In the name of love, those two would have a chance at creating a bright new future for their families. A marriage of peace, father said it almost seemed too good to be true, and in the end, it really was. But when I first heard about it, I was thrilled too. I hoped that one day I would find someone who loved me so dearly,” Stiles, in all his fervent talking, needed a moment to breath. “Only a day later, my dad suddenly seemed in a very grim mood. I asked him what was wrong and he told me what had happened.”

“Then he must have lied to you,” Derek interrupted.

Stiles couldn’t help a soft smile at the memory, “Indeed he did, but I could tell he was lying to me, so I followed him to the council and eavesdropped on their meeting.”

“The Argent girl had been putting on an act all along. One of our contacts had found out that she and her grandfather had plotted to kill all the Hales. She was to make the eldest son fall in love with her and gain entry to their castle so that one day, she could burn them all down with it. We had been too late to stop it, but the Argents were severely punished for their actions. My father saw to that. Lady Katherine,” he noticed how Derek cringed at the name, “Was brought to _justice_ the next day.”

A creak from the stairs turned their attention away from Stiles’ story. Allison was upstairs with them and stood frozen at the entrance. 

“Y-You’re Derek Hale,” she muttered. She rushed forward right in front of Derek and bowed her head down, “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. Please, I—.”

This had both Stiles and Derek puzzled. 

“Allison, what—” Stiles started.

“Kate, the Lady Katherine Argent. She— she was my aunt. My father never wanted any of those things to happen. When he learned of her plan, he immediately left for the capitol with me to tell the king about it.”

“Then, your father, _Chris_ was our contact?!” Stiles asked, perplexed by this new knowledge.

Allison nodded and turned her attention back to Derek.

“After what happened, we changed our last name and settled here in Beacon. My father wanted nothing more to do with our cursed family. Derek, please, forgive us.”

“N-No, none of it was your fault.” Derek finally uttered with a much more resolved voice. But Stiles also heard the unspoken, _Because it was all mine._

 

* * *

 

Allison nodded and moved to the stairs again, “I should go check on Scott and Isaac. I’ll let you two talk.”

Maybe back then, Derek would’ve been furious to be suddenly faced with an Argent, but he wasn’t that person anymore. The girl had nothing to do with it and her father had even tried to stop it. That’s more than he could say for himself. Derek finally turned back to face Stiles and was once more met with an expression he had not expected. 

One of seething anger.

“You’re blaming yourself, aren’t you?! You have been for all this time and you still do! Even now …” 

He could only look back at Stiles sullenly. 

“It wasn’t. Your. Fault!” Stiles shouted, and that sparked something in Derek’s mind, an anger of his own. 

“How can you say that when it was _my_ carelessness that got my entire family killed?!”

“Derek, you didn’t—”

“I didn’t what, Stiles?!” he barked, so loud it made Stiles flinch. “If I hadn’t been so blind, if I hadn’t let that bitch in, then they would still be alive.”

Stiles’ voice was losing strength, overpowered by Derek’s bearing, “No, Derek, you—” 

“And I bet there is still one _small_ detail you probably do not know yet! One that makes all the difference!” Derek was shaking in anger and sorrow as he continued, “The night she burned it all down, one of our guards had tried to attack her. He had tried to _stop_ her, Stiles! But I— I killed him. He must’ve found out what she was going to do but I didn’t give him any time to explain. If I hadn’t stopped him, then they’d still ... That’s what I am reminded of every time I look at those damn claws.”

The shock on Stiles’ face made Derek lose what little hope he had that maybe Stiles would not run away after finding out the truth. He sat down on the bed again and held his head in his hands, trying his very best to stop the wetness in his eyes, the old wounds feeling fresh again. He couldn’t bear to see Stiles walk away. 

At first, he didn’t feel even Stiles sitting down next to him, and his eyes remained downcast and unfocused.

“Derek, look at me,” Stiles said, and when Derek didn’t respond, he forcibly repeated, “Look at me!”

Derek suddenly found himself focusing on the prince’s determined expression. One that would tolerate no contradiction. 

“The person responsible for the death of your family is Katherine Argent. That bitch is the one at fault and you don’t deserve any of the hardships you had to go through.”

“Stiles, I let her into my home! I killed the man who could’ve stopped her,” Derek all but whimpered.

“She had everyone fooled, Derek! And who is the least to blame but the person who loved her the most.” Emotion was breaking into Stiles’ voice too now, but he held on, he took Derek’s hand in his and pushed it onto his heart, “Believe me, Derek. Please. All you did was love someone, care for someone so much that you trusted them and wanted to keep them safe from harm. There is _nothing_ wrong with that, on the contrary. It wasn’t your misguidedness that killed your family, nor your naivety or ignorance. It was _her_ wickedness.” 

“No, stop it. You don’t—”

Why was Stiles doing this? Derek had gone over it many times in the past, and as much as he had tried, he could never take the blame off of himself. Yet, here Stiles was, trying to do the very same thing, and strangely, it was working, He was tearing down the walls Derek had built up over the years. But still, Derek fought off that hope. He didn’t deserve it. 

“That’s not all, Stiles. Even now, I keep hurting people. I’ve been making weapons for Deucalion’s guards for weeks now. Your _enemies_! Weapons that are being used against you. After all this, how can you _not_ hate me?”

Stiles couldn’t keep in the hoarse laugh that burst out of him almost madly, “You really think I didn’t know that? You’re the only blacksmith in town, you idiot. Where else were they going to get them? Seriously, Derek, if you take the blame for this too, I’m going to punch you in your magnificent face.”

Instead of moving to indeed punch Derek in the face, his hand only grasped Derek’s harder. 

“And I swear that I will keep telling you until you finally get it through that thick skull of yours. You saved our lives today, more than once. I’ve only known you for such a short time, yet I already trust you more than most. You’re the only person I could go to and you did all you could for me and my friends. I can’t believe you thought I would blame you for all of that now, much less hate you for it.”

Derek didn’t know what to say. He could still feel it. The guilt. It would probably always be there. But somehow, it felt lighter, if only a tiny bit. For the first time, part of him wanted to believe that it was not his fault, not entirely at least. God only knows how Stiles succeeded in what Derek himself had been failing to do all those years. He felt himself calm down more and more, grounded by Stiles’ touch. 

A little later, it seemed Stiles wasn’t finished talking yet, though, “Please don’t do this to yourself anymore, I beg of you. I _know_ guilt can be a heavy burden, and I can’t believe you’ve had to deal with it for so long. I only just—” Stiles broke off what he intended to say. 

“You only just what?” Derek asked tentatively when Stiles did not continue speaking. 

“I know it’s stupid. You don’t have to tell me. I know I shouldn’t, and I know it doesn’t even begin to compare with what happened to you, but I-I feel guilty too, you know?” Stiles was the one to look away now and Derek had a good idea what this was about. “My father … he would never want me to blame myself for his death, but I can’t help but feel like there was something I could’ve done to save him,” Stiles’ breathing got remarkably heavier. “D-Dad, he—”

Very slowly, the prince started sniveling just a little bit, nearly rendering Derek speechless, he gripped Stiles’ arm and looked him right in the eyes. 

“Stiles, you know you have nothing to do with your father’s death. You would’ve died too if you hadn’t escaped.”

All of a sudden, Stiles’ soft crying turned into hoarse laughter. 

“That’s not it. I know that. It’s just …” Stiles controlled his emotions, and visibly calmed down, holding Derek’s other hand even more tightly now, “It hasn’t really had a chance to sink in, you know. We’ve been on the run all this time and I just couldn’t look weak in front of Isaac and Scott. Everyone’s depending on me to make everything right again and I just …”

Derek soothingly started moving his hand up and down Stiles’ arm to further calm him down and spoke up, “There’s nothing wrong with mourning your father’s death, Stiles. I’m sure Scott and Isaac wouldn’t want you to keep it all bottled up inside. They’d help you with anything.”

“Yeah, I know you’re right—” he abruptly stopped speaking and huffed a laugh immediately after, “Damn it! Here I was, trying to convince you to stop blaming yourself, and look at me now … I’m a ridiculous mess. My dad’s gone … After my mom died, we only had each other left, and now he’s— and I’m …”

When Derek saw Stiles was holding back his tears again, almost on instinct, he pulled him close and held him like Stiles had done so for him only moments ago. It felt nice, holding someone in his arms again, wrapping his arms around Stiles for change. There was little more he could say to make Stiles feel better, but he would try.

“It’s going to be okay, Stiles. It hurts to lose people but you have to live on. Even a recluse like me knows you’re a great prince. When you get the throne back, and you _will_ , the people will love you and everything will be right again, because that’s just the kind of person you are. You’re charming, compassionate, caring, you make people feel like they’re worth something,” at this point, Derek knew he wasn’t talking about ‘the people’ so much as about himself anymore. “You …” 

Stiles slowly backed off, but kept his hands tight on Derek’s hip as his glistening, amber eyes, flicked back and forth across Derek’s features, up and down. The blacksmith’s breath caught in his throat. He was drawn in closer at the mere sight of Stiles, languidly moving forward as well until they were but an inch apart. There was no fighting this, Derek knew he was lost already and closed the final gap. Their lips met in a long and soft kiss. Stiles didn’t move away. He merely closed his eyes. 

Maybe Derek would feel guilty about this later (what’s one more thing to the pile?), but right now he gave in to something he considered long overdue and lost himself in the warmth and gentleness of Stiles’ lips.

 

* * *

 

Stiles felt like his heart was aflutter in the best way possible. He felt emotionally stretched and this was exactly what he needed, what he craved. Part of him had wanted to do this from the moment he saw Derek, for obvious reasons, but he knew very well that now _all_ of him wanted this. Wanted all of Derek. If Derek hadn’t closed the distance between them after all that had happened, he would’ve done so himself. 

It surprised him somewhat, but it was the simple truth. This was far more than just your average physical attraction. In that moment, he really needed Derek, needed his touch, his firm, loving lips on his. And as time progressed, his need only increased. 

The kiss went on long and tender until Stiles finally gasped for air. 

Derek looked at him so earnestly, so vulnerably, and it only made Stiles want him more. He surged forward in a new kiss, intent on something completely different from the first one, hands now holding on to Derek’s hips like a lifeline. Derek just _felt_ so good, so perfect. They hadn’t known each other for that long yet. Something was telling him that this was too fast, but he just didn’t care anymore. Derek was just so… Derek. For all Stiles knew he wouldn’t be alive much longer anyway, who knew what the future held. This was his choice, their choice, and sometimes it was just that simple. All that mattered was this moment, in which he was one hundred percent certain that he wanted Derek in more ways than he ever thought possible. 

Somehow, Stiles seemed to be having a similar effect on Derek. 

Derek moved his hands to grip the back of Stiles’ neck and they both took their time mapping out each other’s mouths and bodies, hands roaming all over in a heated frenzy. Well, not _all_ over, not yet. Derek seemed to be keeping to Stiles’ upper body for now, and although Stiles wanted him to go lower and do the same to Derek, he waited. Not that waiting was difficult, since Derek felt good regardless of where he touched him. They would get there eventually anyway. Stiles was now sure of that merely from the look in Derek’s eyes, from both their breathing sounding heavier with each passing touch, and from the shiver he elicited from Derek when his hands strayed up under his shirt, on Derek’s hips over soft skin to his ribs and finally stroking along the cut lines of his taut, muscular chest, fingers only just flicking over his nipples—

That must’ve really done it for Derek because he lowered one of his hands to Stiles’ lower back and suddenly pushed their bodies even closer.

Stiles swiftly moved his hands to Derek’s back so he could feel that strong body all at once through the fabric of his clothes, still not interrupting the kiss. How he loved kissing Derek, and how he hated clothes right now. Clothes should be outlawed. They were connected on so many points now that Stiles’ already half-hard cock started straining his pants. Even more so when Derek rolled his hips against him for the first time and he felt the other man’s erection brush against his own, again through far too many layers of clothes. Derek moaned as his mouth moved away just an inch. Stiles felt his warm breath on his lips as Derek struggled clearly to find words.

“Clothes. Off,” he finally said, voice laden with lust. And Stiles was definitely on board with that idea.

“I thought you’d never ask,” he mumbled as he already mashed their mouths together with renewed vigor, already missing the feel of stubble, and let Derek undress him. 

Derek got him to nothing but his undergarments in record time, but even so, Stiles couldn’t wait any longer. He caught Derek off guard by slowly pressing up against him again and again, up and down, working up some momentum, and took the moment Derek tensed with another moan, to start removing his clothes, beginning with his shirt. He needed to feel that bare skin on his own and the moment he did, Stiles couldn’t help but pause to drink in Derek’s appearance, hands slowly moving over every muscle, wondering why the hell Derek was ever allowed to wear clothes. 

Of course, this gave Derek a chance to continue undressing Stiles again, who was preoccupied with exploring all of Derek’s upper body at that moment anyway. When all of Stiles’ clothes lay discarded on the ground, Derek backed off a second to just stare at him, every part of him, hands next to his body.

For a fraction of a second, Stiles was afraid Derek had changed his mind and wanted to stop. That was until he spotted the other man’s lust filled eyes raking over him, going up and down and stopping at his cock every other second. 

“You’re beautiful,” Derek said in between breaths. 

“Oh God, I take it you’ve never used a mirror then. You should see yourself, Derek,” Stiles paused, surprised by the broken, low sound of his voice. “You need to get out of those pants now.” All that mattered was getting Derek out of those atrocious garments as soon as possible. 

He moved down to take them off with little help from Derek who was still just staring, and stopped moving as soon as Derek’s hard cock sprang into sight before his eyes, already leaking just a droplet of precum. His eyes glazed over, and before he really knew what he was doing, he already licked a line up Derek’s shaft, as if possessed, making the man tense up and curse in surprise. 

“Fuck, Stiles …” Derek shuddered and that was all the motivation Stiles was going to need to envelop all of him into his mouth, slowly moving down, licking the slit and tasting Derek for the first time. 

He’d never done this before, but he just followed his instincts, gently moving up and down, hardly even hearing Derek’s constant expletives of, “Fuck, Stiles. Your mouth, I’m going to—”.

Derek couldn’t stop a moan from escaping his mouth again and it was the sweetest noise Stiles had ever heard. He could keep doing this forever, but Derek carefully pulled back with a swear and pushed Stiles’ chin up to look at him. He looked absolutely wrecked, but spoke up regardless. 

“I need … you need to stop or I’m gonna …,” breathing a lot more erratic, he tugged Stiles up and resumed their kiss, finally pulling him down on the bed on top of him so he fit perfectly between Stiles thighs. 

“What do you want, Stiles?” he whispered in between kisses. “Tell me what you want.” 

No one could fault Stiles for being incapable of coherent thought at that moment. He wanted to keep doing what they were doing, he wanted to always stay here, with Derek, he wanted everything, he wanted …

“I want you to fuck me.” It was too soon, he knew, but right there, in the heat of the moment, he couldn’t stop himself. Stiles felt Derek’s already hard dick harden even more against his stomach. A pained expression crossed Derek’s face, as if the mere words were enough to make him lose it. 

“I’ve never …” Derek started saying. “Don’t get me wrong, I want nothing more than that, but the first time, it’s gonna hurt, Stiles. Maybe we should just …” 

“It’s okay, it’s what I want,” Stiles nearly begged. “Derek. Please.” 

Derek was showing an amazing display of restraint here, but Stiles was going to remember the effect begging had on the man, nonetheless. 

“Stiles, damn it—”Derek cursed again before continuing to speak when Stiles’ hand slipped down to grip around his cock and slowly started jerking him off, “Don’t wanna hurt you.” 

Derek surprised Stiles by attacking his mouth with his tongue again, and after another torturously long kiss, he spoke again. “If we’re going to do that, then I want to make it feel as good as I can for you. There will be time for that later, but right now, I don’t think I have the patience for that. I just … need you.” 

It took Stiles a moment to process all of those words. 

“Later,” he echoed faintly. “So you mean …” 

Derek’s grin was downright feral, and fuck if that didn’t make him look ten times hotter. 

“If you want it to,” Derek asked, voice giving away his temporary insecurity. Stiles wanted to take away Derek’s uncertainty as quickly as possible. 

Words failed and he could only answer by showing Derek what it was that he wanted then, pushing himself down on Derek, getting back to kissing because their lips had been apart for far too long. He finally sneaked a hand down again and grabbed hold of Derek’s cock, moving slow like before at first, but swiftly picking up the pace, pumping his hand up and down. 

“Fuck,” Derek cursed against his mouth, muscles tensing as he moved them up, making Stiles sit on his lap straddling his legs on both sides again. He bit down on Stiles’ neck, just hard enough not to break the skin and immediately went on to suck the very same spot. Stiles cursed right back at him. 

Next, Derek moved down to lick and peck at his nipple, and put his own hand on Stiles’ far too long neglected cock at last. The moment he touched it, Stiles swore he nearly came instantly. Never before had he been so sensitive and Derek’s hand felt so good, matching the rhythm he himself was working up to on Derek. Stiles moved even closer and Derek saw what he was getting at, putting his larger hand over Stiles’ and rubbing their cocks together in long and slow thrusts, quickly becoming faster and sloppier. 

“Harder,” Stiles breathed out. “Derek, please,” he moaned

Barely able to keep his eyes open, he noticed Derek’s dazed stare as he moved his hand harder and faster, using his other to roam over Derek’s hard chest. 

“Stiles, I’m—” Derek started, but broke off in a low, filthy moan that Stiles would never forget, as he came all over Stiles’ stomach. Stiles felt like he was about to float out of his own body and only seconds later, as Derek’s fist kept sliding and twisting up and down around his cock, he came just as hard and only just stopped himself from howling in pure, elated ecstasy. 

He dropped down on Derek, feeling boneless and empty, as if Derek had indeed succeeded at making his mind leave his body. The mere thought of moving was too much, and even the stickiness in between them couldn’t get him to do so. When Derek pushed him off of him almost reverently, he only groaned in response to the unwanted loss of body contact. 

Derek chuckled and responded, “I’ll be back in a sec, Stiles. Just need to get something to clean us off with.”

On second thought, that did sound like a good idea. Stiles did feel a little gross and in only a few seconds, Derek was back with a piece of cloth. He hissed in surprise when Derek softly ran the cold, damp cloth over his stomach. 

“Sorry,” he uttered, smiling shyly, and Stiles thought it was one of the most endearing things he had ever seen. 

“It’s okay. Thank you,” he murmured as Derek finished cleaning him up. 

After he threw the cloth away in a dark corner of the room, Derek dropped down next to Stiles and covered them both under a large, thin blanket. Stiles had a hard time opening his eyes, but he could faintly see Derek tentatively moving closer to him. Stiles truly thought the man couldn’t get any more adorable than that. 

“Can I …” Derek trailed off. 

“Derek, I’m pretty sure there’s nothing I would deny you right now,” Stiles turned his head to look at him through heavy-lidded eyes. 

When Derek didn’t immediately respond, Stiles arduously pushed his back against Derek’s chest and immediately felt arms closing around him. 

Stiles felt somewhat strange. Not in a bad way, he felt fucking awesome. Yet, he felt exhausted, and, at the same time, he didn’t know if he would actually be able to fall asleep yet. He never felt safer than this, maybe he never even felt happier than this … Ugh, this was doing weird, wonderful things to his head altogether. When he felt Derek’s mouth turn into a smile on his neck, however, he spoke up. 

“Can’t sleep either?” 

“Yeah. I just need a moment,” Derek sounded sleepy and content, which made Stiles smile again. 

“This was a weird day,” Stiles mumbled as Derek pulled him just a little closer. “Great conclusion, though.”

Derek huffed a laugh against his neck and fully relaxed against Stiles. The room stayed quiet for a while longer and when Derek finally broke the silence, Stiles rapidly opened his eyes, not even having realized they had closed in the first place.

“I thought you were going to die,” he said in a much more serious tone. “Earlier, I mean. In the dungeons, when you ran towards those guards … I don’t think I’ve been that scared in a long time.” Despite what he was saying, Derek’s voice was calm and steady. 

Not really knowing what to say, Stiles just waited for Derek to go on. 

“At that moment, I was already so afraid to lose you, even if I didn’t really _have_ you yet, you know,” Derek huffed against his neck. “I know—I know it doesn’t make a lot of sense. We’ve practically only just met. But when you rushed at them with your sword, I knew I had to do everything I could to keep you alive. That’s when I knew, I just … knew.” 

Stiles all too well understood the way Derek was feeling, after all, even before he left, he had already been afraid that Derek would get hurt. He took Derek’s hand, wrapping himself in his arms even more as their fingers intertwined. 

“We’re still alive. Both of us,” Stiles replied, feeling slightly more awake. He squeezed Derek’s hand for reassurance. “But I—I’ll be in danger for a while yet. I might not, you know … If you want to stop this, then maybe we should— I don’t know.” 

“You think I’d just let you go now?” Derek asked, sounding far more confident than Stiles was feeling

“Would you?” he asked in response. This caused Derek to remain quiet for a few seconds, until he replied determinedly. 

“I don’t think I could if I wanted to,” he said with a soft laugh that Stiles couldn’t help but smile at. 

“Then I don’t want you to.” 

Stiles snuggled deeper in the blanket and Derek’s warmth behind him. A minute went by without any sound but their breathing and he thought that maybe Derek had fallen asleep. But then he spoke up again. 

“Just in case you still haven’t figured it out yet, I’m going with you,” Derek said.

“Derek, this isn’t going to b—” 

“I know what you have to do,” Derek quickly interrupted. “I know the responsibilities you have and I’ll be there with you along the way until the end. My mind’s made up, Stiles. You’re stuck with me.”

“I guess that doesn’t sound _too_ bad,” Stiles said jokingly at first, but his tone got more serious then, “We’ll have to leave town for a while. Getting to the Martins won’t be that easy either.” 

“We’ll get there. Just try to get some rest now,” Derek concluded, nuzzling into his neck for even more warmth. 

Stiles fell asleep smiling for the first time in weeks.

 

* * *

 

Derek couldn’t remember the last time he felt like this. Or maybe, he just never felt like this ever before. Stiles was so warm and perfect in his arms. His bed had never felt this good, and when Stiles sleepily murmured a good night, Derek immediately responded by pressing his lips against the back of his neck and whispering those words back to someone for the first time in a very long time. 

When he woke up, the feeling of someone lying against him was so foreign and strange that Derek felt out of place for a second, it just felt so unreal. That was until he heard Stiles’ soft breathing as he pushed back just a little closer to Derek. 

It was all real. Stiles was still there, warm, soft and bare flesh against him. Derek only gripped him tighter and never before sleep came so easy again as it did now.

The next time he opened his eyes, it was light outside, must have been around early morning. Derek heard the sound of a kettle dropping downstairs followed by several other noises. This seemed to have woken up Stiles as well. He couldn’t keep himself from smiling as Stiles groaned at the rude awakening and pulled the blanket over his head. 

“Ugh, just a few more minutes,” he mumbled, grabbing hold of Derek’s hands. 

There was a knock on the door and Stiles groaned again. Derek looked up to find it opening slowly, gradually revealing Allison. 

“Do you mind if I make some soup for breakfast? Scott’s already found the kettle, as you probably heard,” she added with a smile. “So if you two want to come down ...” 

Strangely, Derek found he could effortlessly smile back at her and answered, “Sure, go ahead. We’ll be down in a bit,” as soon as the door closed, Stiles peeked from under the covers. 

“Oh my god, do you think they heard us last night?” he asked with a small voice. 

“Well, you were pretty loud,” Derek said matter-of-factly. 

“Excuse me? You’re one to talk!” Stiles immediately countered. Derek tried not to blush at that because he knew how loud they both had been, in fact. 

“Would that be a problem?” he said. 

“What?” Stiles asked back softly. 

“If they heard us.” 

Stiles looked up at the ceiling, clearly thinking about it and settling on an answer, “No, I don’t think so. It’ll be fine. Allison seemed pretty cheerful already, so that’s a good sign.” 

Soon, Stiles got out of bed too and, just like Derek, started collecting all of his discarded clothes. When Derek noticed him awkwardly staring at the clothes in his hands, he had an idea of what was going on. Who knew how long Stiles had already been wearing those things?

“I could give you some of my clothes if you want,” he asked tentatively.

“Like those’ll fit me,” Stiles answered laughingly, “But yeah, sure, if you can miss any.”

It only took Derek a few seconds to find some of his more close-fitting clothes, and threw them over to Stiles. 

“Thanks,” he said with a soft smile. 

Derek had been afraid that Stiles might have found it kind of awkward, standing next to each other –naked, again—in the morning, but the prince seemed completely at ease now. It still felt so surreal, though. 

As he waited for Stiles to get dressed, he couldn’t help carefully watching him. His clothes were a little loose on the prince, but he still looked great in them. He looked content. Though Derek would probably say that regardless of what he was wearing, or what he _wasn’t_ wearing— 

Stiles finally met his eyes and walked over smirking at him. He draped his hands over Derek’s shoulders and slowly moved in for a kiss. Derek obliged appreciatively and when they parted again (which took quite some time, though), he stared at Stiles some more, and Stiles just looked right back at him. 

“You probably get told this all the time, but your eyes are ridiculous. You know that?” Stiles asked. 

Derek found himself smiling as he answered. “Your face is ridiculous,” he deadpanned. 

“Huh, I don’t know whether to be flattered or offended.” 

Derek decided to leave it at that and turned around with a small smirk of his own. He needed to make sure of something first, though. 

“Are you okay?” he asked. 

“Of course, why wouldn’t I be?” Stiles lifted an eyebrow in question.

“Just, you know, with everything that’s going on …” Derek tapered off, “And last night …”

“Well, I _am_ okay,” Stiles reacted with a broad smile. “More than I have been in some time actually, thanks to you.”

Derek couldn’t suppress a smile of his own at that. 

“Don’t get me wrong. The world is still just as fucked up,” Stiles added. “And _we’re_ still as fucked up too, I guess. But at least now we can be fucked up together, right? That’s gotta count for something.”

Derek had already figured Stiles was okay with the idea of ‘them’, but it was good to actually hear him say it. Hear him say he wanted them, together. 

He nodded, hardly containing his own happiness for once. He felt so alive, because of the fact that his life had purpose again, that he wouldn’t have to go at it all by himself. 

“We should probably head down,” Stiles eventually said. “You’re starting to creep me out with all that smiling.” 

Derek tried to punch him on the shoulder slightly, but Stiles darted away and down the stairs in glee. 

When they got downstairs, they found Scott and Isaac eating some bread, and Allison stirring the soup over the fire. Derek couldn’t remember actually having any more food in the house so he figured Allison must’ve already gone out to get the ingredients. As soon as they were seated, Stiles gathered everyone’s attention.

“So, we should probably plan on how we’re going to get out of town today,” he said, smirking slightly, “Um, any ideas?”

Allison turned to the table and answered, “The town gates are too dangerous, but lucky for you, I know another way,” she smirked smugly. “Two weeks ago, the bakery near the Western Gate burned down. We were able to stop the fire from spreading, but the building’s beyond repair. It appears, though, that our innocent baker was earning some money on the side by smuggling goods into the city through an underground tunnel. My dad and I have used it a couple of times already. We covered it up so I don’t think anyone’s gotten wind of it yet.”

“That almost sounds too good to be true. Where does it lead to?” Stiles asked. 

“All the way into the forest. When we leave, I’ll scout on ahead to make sure we don’t have to pass too many guards on the way there.” 

“Seems like you planned this all out already,” Stiles smiled openly at her.

Weirdly, this made Allison blush, “I had some time to think it over. I, um, had some trouble sleeping last night.” 

_Oh …_

Derek noticed Stiles’ ears getting red and tried to keep his own composure. A few seconds later, Allison and Stiles were talking again and Derek found himself just staring fondly at Stiles, not really paying attention to the conversation. It took him a little longer to notice he wasn’t the only one not participating in their dialogue. Scott was outright staring at him, and must’ve been for some time already, with his eyes slightly narrowed and calculating. When Scott started looking at Stiles, then at Derek, and then back at Stiles again, Derek had a good idea what was going on. If he was going to join them on their journey, he was probably going to have to talk to Scott at some point. Although it wasn’t like he was really that impressed by Scott’s glaring so far. 

All of a sudden, his thoughts were interrupted by a hand grabbing his under the table as Stiles interlaced their fingers and gave him a soft smile before focusing on Allison’s plan again, as if nothing had happened. Stiles appeared to be completely oblivious to Scott’s pointed glances and Derek found himself almost melting at his expression. On the other side of the table, Scott looked like he was about to have an aneurism, but Derek was too busy trying to keep the red from his face to pay any more attention to it. How in the hell was it so easy for Stiles to make him feel like this? Would it always be that easy?

Stiles was talking animatedly about the forest trail they could take to the Martins and how it would be much safer than the actual road, despite the fact that there might be bandits, when he casually added, “Oh right, and Derek’s coming with us by the way.” 

Derek immediately glanced at everyone to gage their reactions and was slightly surprised at them. Isaac looked pretty neutral and unsurprised, and Allison looked like she has to stop herself from smiling even more. 

Scott dropped his spoon on the floor with a clatter. 

Stiles just continued talking unmindfully and eventually made to leave the table to go and get ready, letting go of Derek’s hand with a wink. Derek sat there dazed for a little while longer until Allison came up to him and coughed a little, amusement clear on her face. 

“Hey, um, you don’t happen to have any arrows lying around here, do you?” she asked. “I’m down to my last one and something tells me it wouldn’t hurt to be prepared, you know.”

“Uh, I don’t really make arrows that often, but there might be some lying around in the smithy somewhere,” he answered, already standing up to look for them. “Hang on, I’ll go check.” 

Allison just gave him that little smile again and walked back to the pot on the fire. 

Derek knew there could be some arrows in one of the crates in here. He hadn’t made arrows in a while, but his fletching skills weren’t all that bad actually. When he opened the crate to, unfortunately, find none at all, he suddenly heard a soft cough from behind him. He had a good idea who’d be standing there, sighed, and was still utterly unimpressed when he turned to be faced with Scott standing incredibly close to him. Neither of them backed off as they stared each other down carefully. When Scott didn’t say anything, Derek crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow, waiting. 

“So,” Scott finally uttered, “You and Stiles …” he trailed off. 

Derek blinked and that made Scott sigh. 

“You do realize who he is, right? _What_ he is?” 

“I do,” Derek sounded more unaffected than he actually felt about it. 

“And you know how this can be problematic,” Scott continued. 

Derek settled on the only right answer he could give, “I think that’s Stiles’ choice.” 

“I guess,” Scott said slightly taken aback, but he still looked quite uneasy. His next action, however, did somewhat surprise Derek. 

Scott stepped forward to pat his shoulder and went on speaking, “Look, don’t get me wrong, I want Stiles to be happy, but … everything’s just gone so wrong. I mean, this situation is hardly normal. And Stiles, he’s— he really is a hopeless romantic when it comes to this stuff. I‘m kind of afraid he’s already completely fallen for you. Heck, I _know_ he has.” 

For the first time, Scott actually had him at a disadvantage, as Derek didn’t really know what to say. Deep down, he knew he had completely fallen for Stiles too, but he wasn’t going to admit that to Scott. He still had a hard time as it was admitting it to just himself. 

“Are you serious about this?” Scott suddenly piped up. “Are you in this as much as I believe him to be?” 

“I am,” Derek said with a steady voice, sounding a little too serious, but he knew he was speaking truthfully. 

Scott seemed to think so as well. 

“Well, fine then,” he answered with a slightly uncomfortable smile. “Stiles did look freakishly happy this morning, so I won’t stop you. To tell you the truth, I’m really happy for you. God knows Stiles finally deserves something like this,” Scott finally let go of him and turned around to walk away slowly, leaving Derek stumped by his sudden turn of character. 

He thought to himself, _Huh, that went better than I expected it to—_

“Oh, and one more thing,” Scott paused, not even turning around to face him, “If you lied to me, if you’re being insincere or even just _hurt_ Stiles in any way, I’ll hunt you down with the very broadsword you gave me.” 

Scott simply walked onward and left Derek utterly baffled. Apparently, the friendship between those two was stronger than he had first thought. But in the end, Derek couldn’t help but agree with Scott on this. If he _did_ ever hurt Stiles, he would want Scott to hunt him down for it too. 

The following hour was filled with preparations and getting ready for their journey. It was already nearing noon when they finally made their way out of the smithy, Allison unnecessarily repeating the directions to the bakery for the umpteenth time and leaving them to scout ahead. Derek turned around to look at the smithy. He hadn’t lived there for that long yet, but it was still strange how he didn’t really feel anything about leaving it behind. It never really felt like home, no place ever had since his own had been burned down, and he’d much rather be with Stiles and his friends anyway. As if on cue, Stiles took his hand in his again and gave it a little squeeze. Derek turned around and tried his best to mirror the smile on Stiles’ face … and it wasn’t actually that hard to do. 

They started moving, following after Scott who was walking next to Isaac, occasionally lending him a hand as the young squire still suffered somewhat from his wounds. 

Derek decided to stay as close as possible to Stiles, discreetly looking around for any threats, making sure to focus on every face, every guard in their vicinity. He only lost his composure for one moment when Stiles suddenly gripped his hand. 

Derek beheld their hands, and when he finally glanced to his left, Stiles wasn’t even looking at him. He was just staring adamantly ahead. Allison suddenly walked out of a group of people and Derek hadn’t even noticed her. He really needed to be more attentive. She walked in front of them and spoke up just loud enough for them to understand. 

“Change of plans, take Greenman’s Alley instead. There seems to be another market or something on the main square today, so the alley shouldn’t be too crowded right now.” 

Before they could reply, Allison disappeared again and Derek was rather relieved that they wouldn’t have to pass all those people on the main road after all. They continued following along the busy road for a while, often waiting for guards to pass before going any further. Minutes passed and the third time they were all waiting, Derek finally noticed the worry in Stiles’ eyes. 

“What’s wrong?” he whispered.

“I don’t know,” Stiles answered, troubled. “Today’s Sunday, there shouldn’t be a market t—” 

Someone almost ran Stiles to the ground and Derek could only just grab his arm so he didn’t lose his balance. It seemed a lot of people were moving in the opposite direction towards the town square and Derek felt on edge now too.

Scott seemed to have caught on to it as well and stopped a gangly boy just as he tried to pass by them.

“What’s going on?” he asked the hurried kid. “Where is everyone going?” 

The boy answered animatedly, “You didn’t hear? They caught one of the traitors and they’re about to have her executed.” The boy quickly moved along, leaving all of them frozen in their tracks. 

Stiles was the first to react. 

“But—But we saved you and Isaac, they don’t have anyone to execute anymore,” he paused looking at Derek with insecure, pleading eyes, “Do they?” 

Derek noticed Scott’s eyes turning shocked all of a sudden, “They couldn’t have …”

While Derek didn’t understand what was going on, Stiles cleared it up for him. 

“Allison …?” he murmured.

“She was just here!” Scott nearly yelled, “They couldn’t have caught her in that time and organized a whole execution, could they? And this is _Allison_ we’re talking about here!” 

Suddenly, Derek heard footsteps and heavy breathing approaching them and stopping right behind him. He didn’t have to see who it was himself simply because of Scott’s relieved expression and Stiles’ confused one. 

“Allison!” Scott said, running straight into her and holding her tight, “You’re okay! I thought they—” 

But Allison slowly pushed Scott away, revealing a grave expression. “Not me,” she said

 _This can’t be good,_ Derek thought. 

“What’s wrong, Allison?” he asked her, as both Scott, Stiles and Isaac didn’t seem to be able to form any words, “Who—”

But Allison wasn’t even looking at him, nor at Scott anymore. She was staring at Stiles with nearly tear-filled eyes. Again Derek had no idea what was going on, but he figured Stiles did, judging from the way it looked like his mind was racing and then suddenly turned to a horrified expression. Derek reached out and put his hand on Stiles’ shoulder. He was about to ask what was going on when Stiles finally breathed out the answer. 

“They have Lydia ...”

 

* * *

 

“Lydia? As in Lydia _Martin_?!” Isaac piped up. 

Stiles cursed. They were almost out and now _this_. He needed to think, they couldn’t just stand here doing nothing. He felt more grounded by Derek’s warm hold on his shoulder and tried to focus. 

When he looked up again, everyone was staring at him with concerned eyes. Stiles realized they were all waiting for him to tell them what to do, and they needed to act quickly. He was a god damn prince and he bloody well needed to act like one. He looked at all of them again and he stopped at Isaac, who he remembered was still too injured to be of use in— in whatever they would end up doing. He was still working on that part.

“Scott, you and Isaac should go on to the bakery and wait for us there,” he said. “Open up the passage and make sure we can get out as fast as possible if it comes to that. 

Scott looked unsure but Stiles was relieved to see he didn’t go against that part of his plan. Scott nodded, turned to Allison for a second and moved to help Isaac. 

He stopped by Stiles again just before leaving and spoke with a soft and steady voice, “Don’t you dare die out there. Good luck.”

“Allison, lead the way,” Stiles said, causing her to stop staring after Scott and Isaac. Stiles knew his voice wasn’t as balanced as he would’ve wanted it to be, but he didn’t have time for that. 

Just as Allison turned to run ahead, though, Derek stopped them both. 

“Wait!” he said. “This is our chance to get out of here. Don’t you see, Stiles? Deucalion _wants_ you to go! He knows she’s your friend. You’re the one who’s going to end up getting executed on the town square!” 

“Don’t you think I know that? But I have to go help her, Derek.” 

“Stiles—”. 

“Yesterday, we all rescued Scott and Isaac together, because they were my friends, and even though we might’ve walked right into a trap, we still did it. This is the same thing, Derek! I—” Stiles voice faltered, “I know I can’t expect either of you to follow me into this folly, so if you want out, then go, I won’t be angry. But I’m going.”

“You … idiot,” Derek said, already loosening one of his bags and getting out his metal claws again. 

“What are you doing?” Stiles asked in wonder. 

“Getting ready,” Derek immediately responded, “Allison?”

When she nodded back at Derek resolved, he looked at Stiles and said, “Let’s go then.”

Stiles tried to control his feelings as he jumped Derek in an embrace until Allison said, “We have to go.” 

“Right. Thanks, guys.” 

They ran as fast as they could.

 

* * *

 

When they got to the square, Stiles noticed that nearly the entire town must’ve gathered there. They were having trouble getting through all of them to get to the platform on the other end. While they were making their way over there, Stiles already took notice of the scene on top of it: several guards, a bound and hooded figure, and right next to her, Deucalion himself, smiling wickedly at the growing masses. Just seeing his face made Stiles furious. He quickened his pace and got closer to the front row, both Allison and Derek in his tow, pushing past the noisy crowd, glad that they weren’t as obstructed as he had feared since no one really paid any attention to them. 

They were close to the front row just when the square slowly got more and more quiet. Stiles looked up to see Deucalion holding up his hand, effortlessly silencing the entire crowd. He took off the hood and Stiles was faced with the sight of Lydia Martin, bound, gagged and looking royally pissed off. 

“The young Lady Martin,” Deucalion sneered out loud for all to hear. “Earlier today she was caught, trying to bring down our kingdom from the inside out. However, I am not without mercy. She may yet come out of this alive.”

When he paused, there was an eerie quiet all over the square. Stiles had a bad feeling about where Deucalion was going with this. 

“Quid pro quo,” Deucalion continued, “And there is one thing I would trade your life for, girl. There is one among you all who could trade places with her,” he said, raising his arms towards his audience. “So I will give you a chance to save this girl.” 

The crowd was still mostly quiet but confusion adorned everyone’s faces, even those of the guards and Lydia’s. Suddenly, Lydia’s eyes opened wide in understanding as she tried to yell out, she was able to rid herself of the cloth they had pushed in her mouth.

“No, don’t! Sti—” she yelled. 

Deucalion quieted her with a firm, loud slap on her cheek, the echo of it flowing over the crowd. 

“Quiet, girl!” he snarled, and turned back to the audience, looking even madder than before. “Like I said, I’m giving you this one chance to save her.”

Stiles would have already moved up the platform, rapier in hand, if Derek hadn’t held him down. He tried to think through the fog of anger clouding his mind. He needed to focus. Something about Deucalion seemed off. Maybe they would still have time to save her in a more discreet way than—

“I know you’re here, Stiles!” Deucalion yelled all of a sudden, frantically scanning the entire crowd, “Come and face me like a real man, or she dies.”

This, however, did get the crowd talking again. Between all the murmurs, Stiles heard several people saying his name in question. A little girl not too far from him said, “Stiles? Does he mean prince Stiles, mommy?”, just as a man a little more to the right of him whispered in awe, “So he is still alive after all. I knew it.”

Stiles had many ideas of how this all could’ve gone, but never had he expected Deucalion to actually acknowledge his survival to the entire town. He had not thought the man would ever admit to that after adamantly stating that the entire royal family was dead. Clearly, Deucalion was out of patience. Either that or he lost his mind entirely. 

Time went by and eventually Deucalion raised his voice to make his subjects cower in silence again. “Still you hide?” he yelled, “It would seem cowardice runs in your blood. No matter. Then another will die in your stead once more!”

Stiles could feel the anticipation of the crowd, could feel their confusion and fear at what was going on. To his side, he saw Derek staring at him intensely, a glint of fear in his eyes as well. 

Stiles knew he would have to act quickly, or Derek would stop him again. He hated himself for doing this. Chances were big that he _was_ going to die and that would mean leaving behind everything: his people, Isaac, Scott, and Derek … But he had to be quick. He had to act before his resolve crumbled, or before it was too late for Lydia. 

Derek’s eyes opened wide as he understood what Stiles was up to, but his hands only clutched thin air as Stiles deftly moved past the people in front of him to climb onto the wooden platform. 

He wouldn’t let anyone else die for him. 

As soon as he got up, one of the guards immediately went for him. Spurred on by anger, he found himself easily intercepting the guard’s lunge and quickly countered. The man dropped dead at his feet, but yet another guard attacked him from behind, he turned around just in time to see the man gasping for breath as Derek’s metal claws cut through his throat. Stiles didn’t have time to thank him as an arrow flitted past, missing his head by an inch. 

An archer on the other side of the platform readied yet another arrow, but Deucalion raised his hand and called out, “Stop! Lay down your arms.” To Stiles’ surprise he wasn’t even addressing him and Derek, but his own soldiers. 

The townsfolk in the square had all backed off a little but nearly all stopped in their tracks when they realized who it was that had climbed onto the platform. 

“So, not a coward after all,” Deucalion said, “Just a predictable fool. I commend you for your bravery, boy. What with all this hiding and running away. At least now I can give you a good death.” 

The bowman raised his bow again and lined up another arrow, but Deucalion stopped him once more, taking his own sword out of its scabbard. 

“I will be the one to end him,” he looked at his guards and then tilted his head at Derek. “I will call back mine if you call back yours.” 

Derek stirred beside him but Stiles put a hand on his chest, “Derek, no.” 

Derek looked at him angrily, and Stiles understood why. If he were in his place, he would feel the same way. 

“I have to do this,” he continued. Live or die, he needed Derek to understand. “We won’t get another chance like this again. Please, you have to trust me.” 

Derek seemed to be having a hard time agreeing to that, but eventually, his angry look transformed into a bested one. 

“You’re right,” he sighed, sounding powerless at first, but he continued in a more determined voice. “You can do this, Stiles.” 

Stiles nodded back at Derek solemnly and grasped his rapier firmly in his hand, approaching Deucalion. 

He knew that on a normal day, he wouldn’t be able to win against him. But even so, with all that depended on the outcome of this duel, Stiles felt stronger than ever before. He felt powered by the prospect of revenge, he could take down the man that murdered his father and so many others. He could make everything right again with just a good stab of his rapier. Moreover, he had not failed to notice that Deucalion did not seem like himself that much. His eyes seemed crazed, almost deranged. 

Deucalion made a mock bow which Stiles returned, grimacing. Immediately, Deucalion rushed forward and started slashing away at Stiles. The prince easily parried the blows and returned his own, but Deucalion seemed almost bored by it all. After a few seconds, Stiles knew the man wasn’t even trying yet. Maybe he was trying to assess his skills, but two could play that game. Deucalion suddenly took a few steps backwards and grinned. 

“Not bad. I’m actually glad Kali and her guards weren’t able to take you down in the dungeons. You know, I even warned the fools you would probably be there for your friends –you are, after all, ever so predictable– and they still failed at eliminating you. I now see you did have some help, though,” he spoke, glancing at Derek behind him. “Let’s see how you fare without him, shall we?” And just like that, he rushed forward again. 

It was as if he was fighting someone else entirely. The beginning of their duel had almost seemed like a sparring session, but this must be what Deucalion fought like when he didn’t hold back. Only just avoiding another swipe at his legs, Stiles knew he was in trouble. Judging by the crazed glint in his eyes, Deucalion seemed to pick up on that, but again, he responded surprisingly by backing off once more. 

He looked almost disappointed when he said, “Hmmm, seems I was mistaken. I was hoping for a challenge, but you won’t last much longer like this. Perhaps your talents lie elsewhere. I could imagine some other use for that mouth of yours.”

Stiles felt horrified by the man’s savage grin and burning stare. He had enough of this banter. _Time to shut you up, you bastard._

He closed the short distance between them and stabbed at his foe relentlessly. Deucalion seemed to hold his own and dodged or blocked every attack, but at least that annoying grin was gone as he had to focus all of his attention on the duel again. 

Sadly, this meant he was fighting even better now, and Stiles swiftly learned that the hard way when Deucalion nearly disarmed him with one fell blow. He could just about hang on to his rapier but lost the offensive. Deucalion ruthlessly lunged at him with his own rapier, aiming for Stiles’ knees. 

As best he could, Stiles dodged again and again, but he was starting to get forced to the side of the platform. He knew he had to fight back, but Deucalion’s flurry of stabs required he put all his attention to defense. 

There were gasps from the crowd as he nearly fell down. He could stay upright only just, but he knew it was over. He was open to an attack. He braced for impact, but … Deucalion simply didn’t take the opportunity. 

He swished his sword through thin air, slowly sauntering back to the center and turning around again, pointing at Stiles to get up and get back to the middle of the platform. 

He felt utterly helpless, but there was no turning back. As he stood up, balling his one fist and clenching the grip of his sword, his eyes were drawn to some movement to his left. He looked at Derek and noticed the seething anger on the man’s face, the barely controlled urge to step forward and help. But if Derek did that, Deucalion’s archer would just as quickly put an end to it. Stiles was about to shake his head at him with the most resolute expression he could muster when Deucalion snapped his attention back to him, raising his voice once again. 

“You’re just as weak as your father,” he spit out. 

For the first time, it was Stiles who had trouble controlling his anger, his powerlessness from only a moment earlier entirely forgotten. He realized Deucalion wanted him to get angry, to lose his cool. But leave it to a Stilinski to keep a clear head in the hardest of times. If Deucalion wanted to see him angry, then that wasn’t what he was going to get. 

Nonetheless, he kept on talking, “Your father would have been the end of this country. He was blind to the threats of the other kingdoms. He would have brought us to the brink of destruction if I had not stopped him. I did this kingdom a favor!” 

_C’mon Stiles,_ he urged himself, controlling his angered breathing, _keep it together._

But Deucalion didn’t stop there. 

Almost in a blasé manner, he said, “Did you know he died without a struggle? He just stood there as I cut his throat. I’m glad you’re at least giving me more of a—”

Stiles didn’t know when he started charging right at him, nor did it matter. His mind was flooded by rage and all that mattered was seeing Deucalion’s dead body on the ground. He wanted to throw away his sword and straight up strangle the man to death, but luckily he kept enough of his wits not to do just that yet. 

He stabbed at Deucalion’s stomach but his rapier was easily hit aside. Nonetheless, he kept going, quickly gathering his strength again for one quick blow after the other. For once, Deucalion was the one completely on the defensive, seemingly preoccupied with dodging all of Stiles’ hits. 

_I’m faster than him, I can—_

But he hadn’t been paying attention, before he well knew it, he felt the kick against his legs sweeping him of his feet. He was lying down, a sword at his throat. He swallowed against it closing his eyes for just a second, hearing the outcry of a familiar voice. 

But then, the cold metal was gone from his skin, and once again, he was met with Deucalion retreating back to the center of the platform. 

“C’mon! One more,” he said as Stiles got up again, “Give me everything you’ve got.” 

“You’re mad,” Stiles finally responded. He was amazed at how steady his voice still was, sounding much stronger than he felt as he took his position. 

Deucalion just grinned and gestured for them to begin anew. 

Stiles was already breathing heavily, still recuperating from their last bout. He had already pushed himself close to his limit and could only hope the adrenaline would keep him going just a little longer. 

_Stay upright, whatever you do, stay upright, Stiles._ Maybe he was just being childish, maybe he was being stubborn, but he was not about to give up.

Just as Deucalion started moving in on him, he heard his name somewhere off in the crowd. He had no idea who it was, but in an instant, he didn’t even have to watch, he was aware of all his surroundings, of everyone standing there watching him. It was all of them he was still alive for, them he was fighting for. He felt like an idiot for forgetting, but they were all there, his people. He didn’t just have _one_ reason for doing this, he had thousands, one of which, above all others, was standing with him on that very platform. 

Deucalion was swift and strong in his attacks, trying to get Stiles to the edge again, but this time, he stood his ground. He felt his power depleting, his limbs were close to giving out, and he knew he couldn’t possibly tire out Deucalion. He had to hurry. All of a sudden, he lunged out desperately … and instantly regretted it. 

He put far too much power in it, and when Deucalion dodged it and hit his sword to the side, he couldn’t keep a hold on it any longer. His rapier slid across the wood and fell to the stone ground below with a clang, a stark contrast to the sudden silence. 

Deucalion’s eyes opened wide with delight as he smiled, circling around Stiles like a predator closing in on its prey. Stiles was right where Deucalion wanted him and was completely defenseless. He didn’t know what to do other than to keep facing Deucalion. When they had already turned over half a circle, Stiles spotted Derek making a clear move towards them, but the archer still had his arrow trained right at him. Derek looked absolutely livid, and equally powerless. Deucalion kept walking and slowly Stiles could no longer keep Derek in sight. 

He never thought he’d find something like he had with Derek. He’d always hoped of course, but he never … 

He just—he couldn’t die. It was a useless thought, but it kept him focused, kept him strong even as he was unarmed and faced with a man who could strike him down at any moment. Stiles’ stubbornness was infantile and foolish. He knew it well. Just because he believed he couldn’t die didn’t mean he wouldn’t, but he just had to live. 

_Here it goes. Last chance._

“Well,” Stiles’ monotonous voice travelled all over the square, “What are you waiting for?” He stopped turning around with Deucalion and bowed his head down in defeat, closing his eyes. “Afraid I might bite?” he added in challenge. 

“Ha, it almost pains me to have to do this. You’ve been such a good sport,” Deucalion sneered from behind his back.“But I think you’re right. We’ve been at it for quite a while. Time to end this.” 

_I couldn’t agree any more,_ Stiles thought. 

He heard Deucalion’s slow approach and felt the sharp edge against the side of his neck as Deucalion lined up his blade to end it in one quick swoop. Stiles breathed out long and slow. Time froze until—

“STILES!” 

The exact moment he heard Derek’s loud, panicked voice calling out his name, he duck down, kicked back with everything he got and turned to punch Deucalion in the stomach. 

“What—”

Deucalion was surprised to say the least and dropped his sword when Stiles hit his hand with an upward kick. He looked absolutely fuming. 

“You spineless, little—!” 

But Stiles had nothing to throw at him anymore and as Deucalion recovered from his temporary daze, he punched Stiles in the gut, and then continued to kicked his feet from under him and immediately went down to punch him in the face once, not even bothering to hold him down. 

It all went so fast. Deucalion straddled his legs, punching his torso again and again and about to start on his face. Saying everything hurt didn’t come close to the agony he was feeling. Deucalion held back for just a second, rapidly breathing in and out, and through all the blinding pain, Stiles suddenly noticed a glint of steel just in arm’s reach. 

“You had a chance to die honorably by the sword, but now I’m going to make you suff—”

Blood spilled down the hilt of Deucalion’s own sword as Stiles lodged it between his ribs in one swift movement, shouting with all the power he had left. 

Deucalion had no words left. His lifeless body fell down and Stiles pushed him off his legs to try to get up. His ribs hurt immensely, and his legs burned in the movement, but he just managed to get up. 

Two guards seemed to snap out of their bafflement and progressed towards him. The sword was still stuck in Deucalion’s torso, and his own rapier was nowhere in sight. Stiles helplessly brought his hands up as he feared he had finally succeeded in defeating Deucalion only to be killed seconds later by one of his minions. 

However, the two guards were intercepted by a literally roaring Derek. Stunned by his menacing approach, they were quickly dealt with. But Stiles’ heart trembled when he saw the archer taking aim at the still fighting Derek. He was too far off to stop it. He saw the arrow, but it hadn’t left the archer’s bow yet. Instead, the archer himself sagged down to the ground with an arrow stuck fast in his throat. Stiles didn’t need to look. Somewhere in the crowd, Allison still had their backs as well. 

Not many more of the guards moved, either out of fear or confusion of the sudden victory of their crown prince. Then Deucalion’s _own_ men seemed to snap out of their stupor as well and attempted to go near him, moving up towards the platform, until another voice he knew very well yelled from afar. 

“Guards of Beacon, your rightful heir is in danger!” Scott’s voice rang throughout most of the square, silencing all. “Protect him!” 

The townspeople and, to Stiles’ surprise, many of the guards stepped into action and fought back to stop Deucalion’s men. Stiles breathed out in relief and gratitude, and finally felt his legs give out in pain and exhaustion. Despite everything, he felt so very light. He started falling, but suddenly, there was a source of warmth right next to him, keeping him up. 

The fighting was soon over, the last of Deucalion’s men were dead or on the run, and the Stilinski name resounded across the town. Stiles sagged into the warmth and even noticed Allison in the crowd, loudly shouting along with them. 

With a tired smile he finally looked at Derek. Everything suddenly seemed quieter. Ignoring the pain, he turned his body towards him and fell even more into his warm arms, tightening their grip even further. Derek was muttering words Stiles didn’t understand and his eyes were shut tight in relief. He couldn’t keep himself from seeking out his lips. The moment he finally found his mark, he forgot about the crowd, and they both lost themselves in each other, followed by open-mouthed kisses while Derek scooped him up and held him close.

 

* * *

 

**Epilogue**

It was late. Dusk was nearing and he needed to finish all of this paperwork tonight. Stiles stood up to light some candles in the room and focused back onto the scrolls on his desk. 

One in particular caught his eye. It was a report from another town close to their borders where one of Deucalion’s last henchmen, a certain Ennis, had just been caught. Stiles couldn’t help a sigh of relief from escaping. 

It had been nine months since he ended Deucalion’s reign. The first months had been difficult and sometimes he really doubted he could still save this kingdom. But when the neighboring kingdoms were finally soothed, things started to look up again. People recognized him as his father’s son and that seemed to be worth a lot, even across their own borders. Most of all, Beacon was beautiful once more, just like it had been.

All those who betrayed Stiles’ father were stripped of all their wealth and property and banished, but what was more important than that was that once again, the people had faith in their government. 

Just as Derek had predicted many months ago, the people instantly took to Stiles, both for taking care of Deucalion and for his lovable personality. Not long after, Scott and Allison got engaged, and Isaac started his knight’s training, no longer tasked with the menial jobs of a squire. Stiles still saw his friends as much as he could, despite all of the traveling and work he had. 

It was an early spring evening, the sun had almost set, and Stiles had just started on several important documents that would reopen trade with the kingdom to the north. It had been hard to earn back their trust, but he had succeeded nonetheless. The northern king’s beautiful daughter seemed particularly fond of him, but Stiles didn’t think much of the girl. He kept up with the niceties but wouldn’t be so cruel as to give the young girl any false hope. 

Suddenly, he heard just the faintest noise coming from behind him. Immediately, he knew he was not alone in this room. 

How many times had it been already … someone sneaking up behind him, most likely with nefarious plans, just as always. 

Of course, Stiles knew very well which particular _someone_ this was. He stayed still and kept writing as if he didn’t hear a thing. Just when he heard a muffled footstep very close by, he spoke up loud and clear. 

“You really think it so simple to sneak up on me?” he asked the intruder with a smug smile.

Strong arms embraced him from behind as a stubbled chin settled on his collarbone, nuzzling his neck. 

“It used to be,” Derek practically purred. 

“Well, you _have_ given me lots of training,” Stiles said fondly. “Maybe you need to change your approach?” 

This very same scene had played a few times already. Derek and Stiles had a habit of sneaking up on each other, but especially Derek tried his very best to take Stiles off guard. Embracing him, kissing him, even tackling him at times when he least expected it (with quite enjoyable consequences). 

Lately, Stiles found it a lot easier to see this coming, but even now, Derek still succeeded at surprising him every once in a while, and it was more fun to play along anyway. Just as he relaxed into Derek’s arms, he thought the same thing he had so many times before, _I never imagined I could have a life like this and I hope I get to keep it._

He had known there would be some resistance to him taking Derek as his consort, but it wasn’t all that bad. The people saw Derek as a hero, and when it came out that he was in fact of noble birth as well, it seemed no one made a problem out of it. Of course, people didn’t have to know all about the Hale history, but that was the end of that, and the kingdom rejoiced in their happy union. 

Besides, nearly the entire town had seen Derek kissing him silly after the duel with Deucalion, so it was kind of hard to deny any of it anyway. 

Ever since that day, Derek never had to use his claws again. The peace was hard-fought but there, nonetheless. One night, though, and Stiles didn’t know why even, Derek admitted that Stiles was the only person he would use them for again. But that wasn’t important now. Now was a time of peace. Derek was lazily stroking up and down his left arm and made it difficult to focus. 

“I really have to finish these documents, Derek,” Stiles said slightly disappointed.

“Hmmm, and it can’t wait?” Derek said low and seductively.

“Damn you,” Stiles responded as he felt Derek’s hot breath near his ear. “No, it can’t and you know it.” 

_Fucking tease._

“Okay, I’ll wait for you to finish then,” Derek whispered. He kissed his temple and then, suddenly, released his warm hold on Stiles and walked back to a couch against the wall, leaving Stiles dazed and wanting. 

About half an hour later (quite a frustrating one), Stiles had finished the documents, put the royal seal on them, and turned around to approach a reading Derek. He really wanted to find out what Derek’s earlier actions would have led to if he hadn’t been busy.

It took Stiles a moment to recognize the worn-out cover of the book in Derek’s hands. It was the one he still had from when he was little, the one he had been reading the first night they met. Derek was near the final pages, it seemed, and Stiles just stood next to him, unable to stop himself from just staring. Derek really couldn’t know how hot he looked reading, eyes slightly tired but focused and skimming over the page. Derek didn’t look up, but a small grin formed on his face, and the next thing Stiles knew, he was being tugged by his arm into the couch. Derek stretched out a little more and placed Stiles in front of him, lining him up against his body. Stiles was once again cradled by Derek’s warmth and his head was just under Derek’s chin. Derek held the book a little further in front of them so they could both see the pages. He remained silent and kept reading, but Stiles felt he could just burst into tiny pieces of happiness. 

A little later, as Stiles almost dozed off, he suddenly opened his eyes wide when Derek finally flipped the last page and closed the book, softly dropping it on the floor beside the couch. 

“So, you know how the book finishes?” Stiles asked merrily. 

“Like I told you, I’ve read this book many times before,” Derek said, helping Stiles turn around in his arms so that they could finally face each other. 

“I know, but still. I like endings like that, you know?” Stiles said, and Derek kissed his forehead caringly. 

They smiled and pulled each other closer. Stiles nuzzled Derek’s neck for a second, reveling in the closeness as he heard murmured words leaving Derek’s mouth almost reverently. 

The same old words that so many stories end with.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments would make me flail around in joy, so if you liked the fic, don't be afraid to let me know =D. I really hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> I'm so glad I can finally publish this, I've been putting it on hold for so long, but it's actually finished. There are loads of people I could thank really. Not just Teen Wolf and the people who work on the show, but also many people in the fandom who have seriously inspired me to make something myself, whose ambition was incredibly infectious and they probably don't even realize it. They've kept my head above water and I'm sure I'm not the only one they mean so much to. 
> 
> There are a few people, though, who I want to thank specifically. For starters, I want to thank [TobyRosetta](../users/TobyRosetta) and [xxdeejadoodlexx](../users/xxdeejadoodlexx) for getting me started with writing and inspiring the medieval setting of this fic (and Toby for the added technical support and summary help as well). Next, I would also like to mention [TorakoDragon](../users/TorakoDragon) who made a wonderful automail!Derek fanart that was one of the things that inspired me to give him his claws. Without [saintdoriangray](../users/saintdoriangray), I would never have been able to get over halfway the fic, and she helped a lot with the early stages of editing; without her, the beginning would have been rather boring tbh. AND last but not least, I want to thank [earthtostiles](../users/earthtostiles) who is the ultimate reason why I was able to finish this fic entirely. She might not believe she has it in her to be a beta, but she was the best beta I could ever hope for and made the fic a lot more fluent and easier to read. Thank you so much, everyone.


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